Rebirth
by dylanbeto06
Summary: Skyrim isn't what it used to be, an oppressive Thalmor regime driving Freyja, a young daughter of Skyrim, to go in search of anything she can use to fight back. What she finds instead, is Skyrim's savior, thought to have died years ago, now a broken and hopeless man simply waiting for the day he stops breathing to come.
1. Chapter 1

Ragnar

Ragnar awoke as he did most mornings, to dreams of fire. His hand came up from its place on his fur to wipe at his face, the beard he had never bothered to shave getting into his way. He grumbled. Years ago, he would have actually cared for his appearance, now, not so much. He was covered in a poor substitute for armor made up of old animal carcasses, his beard had grown long, and his hair was lengthy and uncombed, reaching to his shoulders. As he slowly stood up his muscles ached, old scars letting themselves be known before he stepped outside. The light blinded him at first, as a bright day out in the snow blinds any who can see. The fresh mountain air stung what parts of his face wasn't covered in snow or hair and he sighed. Once he would've been able to appreciate the beauty that came with such a view, now he just wished to be dead.

Freyja

She could hardly hold in her excitement as they came into view of Raven Rock port. The small but bustling port city was unlike anything she had ever set her eyes on before, beyond what her own imagination would have led her to believe it could look like. A large dominating wall held supreme in her vision, the easternmost structure of the city, holding back the large waves of ash that would occasionally blow towards the populace. So, this was Solstheim, territory of house Redoran, the great island of mystery that she had always been promised. "Something, isn't it?" Freyja cast her eyes at one of the sailors, who had noticed her appraising the city. "It's grown even larger over the years as the occupation lengthened, and the war finally ended. People will go anywhere to escape what's happening back on the mainland, even if it means coming here." As beautiful as the city was, she could see that if times weren't trying that this wouldn't be nearly a popular location as it now was. "Have you been doing this long enough to watch the port grow?" The sailor nodded his head solemnly, probably remembering better times. "Aye, I was doing this route years before the war or anything, wasn't nearly so grand back when I delivered supplies during the civil war, all started when the Dragonborn came." She perked up, finally someone who could answer some questions! "You met him when he came here to Solstheim?!" Freyja came closer to the man, barely able to keep a hold of herself. She had been following onto half hints and hope for so long on information on the Dragonborn and his notorious adventuring years ago. "I did, he took our ship here a fair few times on his trips over, got this city on the right track to expand into what you see." The old sailors head nodded as he continued about his work. "Talked to him a few times, he was a bit cold, but everywhere that man went so to did hope." The ship got pushed to the side a bit by a wave, and they both steadied themselves before he continued with his story. "All these elves owe him their lives as they know it to him, as well as the good fortune of the land, single handedly fixed the island he did." This nord had the same pride of the Dragonborn as they all did, this world owed him their lives, for all he had done and sacrificed. "Why do you ask anyways?" The old nord looked at the young woman, taking all of her in for the first time. She had on leather armor, wearing two swords on her hip and a bow on her back, with black war-paint splattered across the right side of her face. She had piercing green eyes, with fierce long brown hair, beautiful, but certainly also dangerous. "I've come here hoping to find any artifacts I can to bring back to the mainland that the Dragonborn may have come across on his journeys, not much remains of him back home." The sailor nodded sadly. After his disappearance, many had taken advantage of his absence and stolen many of the weapons and artifacts he had taken into possession. "Never took much back to Skyrim when he left here kid, who knows though, not many have come here with the same intentions as you." He looked down at her suspiciously, remembering a night years ago when they had been about to go below deck and sleep, when a man covered in ashes had thrown a sack of gold at them and demanded they sail north. Freyja noticed the sailor shudder. "Is something- wrong?" She looked the sailor up and down, he didn't look very well all of a sudden. The man looked down at her and without a word grabbed her shoulder. "Go north, you may find what you need there." Without another word, he left her to continue on in other duties. Freyja watched him leave oddly. "North…"

Ragnar

As the life finally left the frost troll for good, he pulled the long blade from it's body. Most things on this gods forsaken island had learned to give the hermit a wide berth, but trolls were simply too blood thirsty to understand much. Then again, he used to be as equally bloodthirsty. His hair suddenly picked up into the wind as a wave of snow blew against the ridge above, highlighting several figures staring down at him. Rieklings. The goblins simply identified who it was, before throwing down a bundle quite suddenly and quickly making themselves scarce. Dumb creatures, revered him as some sort of spirit or god. Ragnar reluctantly made his way to the bag they had thrown down, roughly opening it to reveal food inside, as well as a random assortment of goods. By the looks of it the creatures had found people to steal from again, or they'd taken possession of the items in a raid. He didn't care either way, nor did he care for the garbage. Taking the food and stuffing it into his pack he shouldered it and continued on his way. The deep snow had long ago stopped annoying him, not that he really cared for anything that happened anymore, he had been numb to everything for a long while, leaving him without even his famed rage that had won him countless battles. He was just a shell now, waiting to move onto the next plane of existence, if it would still take him after all that had happened, after all he had let happen. His lips curled slightly but whatever whisper of an emotion had piqued him was now gone. Ragnar simply grunted in disinterest, he was used to how he was. Nothing left to care for meant there was no reason to feel. While he was still alive, he had ceased to really fully live long ago. As the thoughts tumbled through his sluggish mind his feet had finally found him onto the shore of the island. Looking east towards Vvardenfell. Red Mountain spewed ash as it always had during his life, the cause of all of Morrowind's ruin. "At least you still have your home, before you lies my legacy Dragonborn." Ragnar only made a slight grunt noise as he saw the spirit next to him. "And yet you don't go back to fight for it, I know that I would have done anything for Vvardenfell, for Morrowind, not only because it's my home but because it was my duty as Nerevarine." The tall dark elf spirit took another step near Ragnar, his lean build hidden by the majestic armor he was adorned in, all that was left uncovered was his head and the dark mane of hair on it. Ragnar resumed his walk, stepping right past the elf spirit. "Still silent then, sooner or later you will have to face your own legacy." Luckily, that was all the spirit decided to say, as the next moment he was gone. Ragnar didn't appreciate the break of silence. In the back of his head he was very displeased that the only ones who dared challenge him so were already dead, all alive who had challenged him before had ended up dead. Of course, that was back when he was around people, before he became just a feared spectre of the north, a story for the Skaal to tell their children to keep them out of the mountains. The village had once tried to initiate contact, a hunting party had come upon him as he finished slaying a bear who had gotten too close to his cave, he hadn't even cast a glance at the Nordic group as he returned to his cave, leaving them to wonder. They had only seen him a few times after in the years following, and learned to keep their distance from the obviously dangerous hermit, in case he ever turned on them. Ragnar had no intent to kill them, nor did he care for them, if they got into his way they would be slaughtered, or if he was recognized by one of them. He'd always made sure to keep his distance or have his face hidden if he was near them, the village celebrated him for his actions when he was Dragonborn, but luckily had no clue that the hermit living in the mountains west of their village was the very same man. Of course he didn't feel like that same man. The Dragonborn had been a man of passion, Ragnar was not, Ragnar was dead on the inside and waiting for the day he would cease to exist.

Freyja

"So what are you trying to say then?" Freyja was amazed at the city when she entered it, and immediately entered the marketplace to inspect what she could find, or what kind of news she could find, and was interested as she saw a dunmer explaining his findings to one of the heavily armored guards. "Something up there slaughtered an entire group of travelers, they left to go check on a ruin for some plunder, I visit a day later to see how they're doing and all I found is bodies!" The dunmer looked crazed as he told the guard of the event, but it was hard to tell the guard's reaction inside all of that armor. "Look, whatever happened up there is out of my jurisdiction, this city, and it's surrounding farms is all we can control and guard. Anything past that would stretch our forces too thin. Try finding some mercenaries to take you up on an investigation." With that the guard left the dunmer to look down in disappointed rage. Freyja took a few steps over to the dark elf and put a hand on his shoulder. "I overheard what happened, can you tell me more about the event, maybe I could go take a look myself." The dunmer had lifted his head in suspicion on seeing the armed stranger but his spirits lifted as she offered her help. "Oh yes please! A group of miners and adventurers I had invested many septims into recently went north to check some ruins for anything to sell, as we've done before nearby. Unfortunately, all the ruins and barrows near Raven Rock have been picked clean, so I've had to send them farther and farther to make profit on these expeditions." His hands came up as he buried his head into them before he looked up, obviously upset at the turn of events. "I'd lead them to a new ruin, before heading back down to where I'd set up camp to do research on some fauna. The next day I decided to go see if they'd begun their exploration, only to find them all.. well they were all-" Freyja could tell this dark elf was very shaken by what had happened, by what he had seen. "They were dead, all of them. Not just dead though, torn apart, some looked as if they'd had- bites taken out of them." The dunmer's eyes widened a bit remembering the scene. Twenty men had gone up with him, only himself and his assistant came back. "You're saying that some creature must have killed them?" Freyja was a bit shocked at this, most beasts didn't bug large groups of people, sticking to weaker prey. "Yes, but no ordinary creature, it had to have been massive to tear apart entire bodies." Even as the dark elf spoke he got a little paler, this was no man of battle, but an elf who was making a living off of pillaging abandoned ruins. "Well, I'll see what I can do about looking around, tell me where this all happened." The dark elf nodded his head vigorously, he had friends in that group who deserved justice for their untimely deaths. He gave his name to her and told her he'd be in a tavern near the docks if she found anything out. Freyja simply nodded, and walked towards the gates. Less than an hour on land and she had already found herself heading towards trouble, better sooner than later she figured. Besides, the boat trip was boring and she needed something to lift her spirits.

Ragnar

One of the most annoying things about the refuge he had decided to become a hermit at was that it was home to many dangerous violent beings. Not dangerous to him, he had always been able to handle himself against the native inhabitants, but few others could say the same. Any sort of large scale incidence with a group of people with some of the more nefarious creatures on this island and it could lead to hunting parties coming up into his mountains, which could lead to Raven Rock learning of his existence. While unlikely that anyone could figure out who he was, it could happen, which he wouldn't allow to come to be. His walk down the beach had served a different purpose before he found that there was a new problem that needed solving. The problem being the blood soaked werebear washing itself in the salty waters. Gods above let the blood be an animal's. The dull creature was still unaware of his presence, so Ragnar let out a grunt, and watched as the massive creature snapped it's head towards him. The werebear pack had an agreement with him, the agreement being that he would kill them if they got in his way. He didn't have to utter a word to make the peace, all he did was spear one of them through the heart when he had become the prey, then killed another two who had pursued him out of vengeance. They had given him a wide berth since then. This werebear eyed him suspiciously, and Ragnar could see that it had fed recently, it was high on battle right now and the adrenaline urged it to kill more. Ragnar needed this thing to know it's place. He placed a hand on the hilt of his sword, and the creature slowly calmed itself down, knowing that this situation could end very badly if it antagonized the nord enough. Once it's battle high wore off, it didn't take long to shift back into a person, leaving a hairy and very nude nord before him. "Stranger." This was the greeting most gave him when he came across them in their human form. He grunted again, letting the werebear know that it wasn't as of yet in any danger. Ragnar pointed at the bloody water where the man had been washing. "We were out on a hunt, the others took what was left back while I came to wash." The werebear was reluctant to share anything, but was in no situation to deny whatever the stranger wanted. When confronted with an armed and well-versed warrior, it was best to keep them placated. Ragnar eyed the man suspiciously. The fact that there was blood wasn't incriminating, the amount was however. Werebears didn't hunt large prey, they went for easy targets, which meant that more than likely the pack had run into a large number of somethings and gone on to kill them all. Not Rieklings, the blood wasn't the right color, which left the very likely alternative of people. The werebear stood as the stranger stood in contemplation, aware that while the man had never shared any reservations with killing people, that he wouldn't be too glad to know of the massacre his pack had just commit. "I'll just be on my way then…" The werebear had only taken a few steps before he heard the sound of a sword being drawn and started into a sprint. In this human form he stood no chance to even an amateur warrior, he wasn't trained in their inferior combat styles. Werebears survived because of their beast blood, and of course the form that blood gave them. His bones began to shift as he let himself go to the call of the beast blood, ready to spill the blood of th- ` Ragnar dispassionately tore the blade out of the corpse sideways from where he'd impaled it in the chest. Idiotic creature as the werebears could be, the situation could easily go very badly. At the very least they'd proven to him that they were too bloodthirsty to escape interest, which meant he needed to take action before the pack made another ill-advised move on the inhabitants of the island. Ragnar slid the long black blade into it's sheath, the center red pillar running down the center disappearing as the sword's light was hidden inside the long sheath. One of the last relics of his past, the Bloodskaal blade served him well in his self-imposed exile. Even if it was recognized, it was native to the island so while it may be a rare and coveted artifact, it wouldn't be out of the ordinary for someone on the island to have it in their possession. That and it's killing abilities were legendary, and while Ragnar may be waiting for the sweet release of death, he wouldn't let simply anybody strike him down. Snow gently fell upon the land as he climbed a slope, nearing the area of the mountains where he knew the werebear pack to inhabit. Inhaling the cold breeze, the scent of blood was strong in the air. He was near.

Freyja

Dread filled her chest at the scene laying in front of her. Swaths of snow were dyed with blood, chunks of body laying all around, the corpses picked clean. Scavengers had obviously visited the scene, further destroying the ravaged bodies of the group. She tiptoed around the scene, spotting large bear prints. This was unlike anything she had ever seen, ever even heard of! Bears weren't pack animals, but there was evidence that a group of at least six of these beasts had set themselves upon the adventurers. Freyja shivered as another gust of the wind hit her, she may have been a nord but by the gods it was cold out here. Not that her leather armor helped, or the fact that she refused to wear a helmet, exposing her head to the outside world, and by extension the elements. Finished observing the massacre, Freyja set off in the direction of the tracks, determined to solve this mystery, perhaps bears on Solstheim were pack animals? Whatever the answer, those people deserved justice, and she would have to be the one who delivered it. Besides, the old sailor had told her to go north in her search and seeing as how the tracks led the same way she couldn't see a better route. Anything related to the Dragonborn would truly be a boon, an artifact for people to rally around, something to remember him, whatever she could get her hands on. His death had shattered what little hope Skyrim had left, and it didn't take long for the countries enemies to take advantage of that. More, now than ever they could use his memory, the memory of the unshakable, unbreakable, ruthless nord who had been their Dragonborn to renew the lands hope. She climbed up a snowbank, gazing out across the tundra for any sign of tracks or a sign of where this pack could be. Of course, the massive bundle of fur that suddenly ran into view to her side was a bit of a giveaway. "By Talos!" Freyja quickly pulled the bow off of her back and nocked an arrow. This creature was massive, larger than any bear she had seen, and looked even less forgiving than the dull creatures she was familiar with. She released her first arrow, striking a bit left of it's neck, and watched as the creature barely acknowledged the injury. This was no bear, but something much, much more horrible. A second arrow struck its front leg, causing the thing to stumble about for a moment before using its other leg to snap the arrow off and continue its charge. With the bear just a dozen seconds away from trampling her, she threw down her bow and unsheathed one of her short swords, preparing herself. Even from this far she could see it's large intelligent, if blinded a bit with bloodthirst, eyes glaring at her. Deep inside she felt fear rise up, but she brushed it aside as much as she could as the thing was nearly upon her. Rolling to the side at the last second, she slashed as she began her movement, slicing through the massive animal's leg. The twice now wounded leg buckled, and the monster toppled over as it's momentum brought it down. Taking the initiative, she had gained, Freyja jumped up, bringing her sword into a reverse grip, with two hands on her sword and brought it down on the bear's chest. She knew her sword had struck true when the frantic movements of this abominations limbs suddenly stiffened. A relieved breath left her body, she hadn't expected such an encounter, and her limbs hurt from the sudden exertion out in this cold. This was all forgotten though at what transpired next. Freyja's eyes widened as the dying bear before her began to, shrink! Its fur disappeared, the thick, mighty limbs it once relied on shifting into legs and arms. By the gods, this thing was a werebear, she'd never imagined of something like this let alone thought she would have the chance to encounter one. The body finished its process, and she was left standing over the corpse of a large, hairy, naked nord. One day ashore and Solstheim was already proving to her why it had the reputation it did.

Ragnar

His hike up towards the beast's territory didn't take long and was uneventful. It wouldn't have mattered even if it had been, he just would have had to kill more on his way up. "This is probably the most noble thing you've done in years." Ragnar glanced to his side where the ghostly armored imperial was walking beside him. "Selfish reason to come do this of course, but noble nonetheless." The spirit appeared to try and shrug through the armor, his good nature had kept with him through his life, even when oblivion itself had gone to war with Tamriel. "Figured if old ashy came to visit I might as well do it too, how you doin' big guy?" Ragnar remained silent, steadily moving his way along the path that smelled most like bloodshed. "Glad to hear you're doing so good, even more chatty than last time as well, glad to see the improvement." This imperial's spirit never seemed to dim. The imperial hero walked ahead directly in front of Ragnar. "You don't have much time left." Ragnar paused in his march, the sudden seriousness of the imperial was odd. "You know what has to be done, and it MUST be done." Ragnar walked through the spirit, finished listening to his vague messages. The imperial took the hint, because he no longer saw the old spirit following him around. They never stuck around long anymore, back when he had first gone into exile they had spent hours trying to coerce him into action. As the years went by they lost hope that the nord would ever do anything besides find food and kill whatever got in his way. His thoughts were washed away though as the next inhale of air brought the thick smell of blood. His nose led him to a cave entrance, and drawing his sword, he began his way in. The creatures left no guard outside, no one had ever been crazy enough to venture into their den before. Bones littered the floor in every direction, and the rock seemed stained permanently with blood, with a fresh trail of it leading in. Werebears could be heard deeper inside, talking as well as growling could be heard. Finally, the path led to an opening, where the pack resided. A large fire in the middle had a group of seven werebears surrounding it, furs lining one wall marked where they slept, and a pile of bodies in a corner made it obvious to him how problematic the creatures had made everything. No body was whole, all had chunks and limbs left, at least enough parts for maybe ten people rested in the pile. Certainly large enough to cause notice if they were to go missing. People would come looking for these corpses. One of the bears lifted up his head, smelling him in the entrance, as he snapped his head around and let out a growl. The other werebears followed suite, some transformed, but four of them in their human shape looked over with surprise and hostility. "What are you doing here stranger!" A large nord, most likely their alpha, had spoken. The werebears were all weary. The stranger they had always avoided had never come near their den, and now here he was with sword drawn. "State your intentions before we tear you apart, speak!" Ragnar had seen all he needed to. Raising the sword so it's tip faced the alpha, he took a deep breath in, widened his feet into a stance that hummed with familiarity, and channeled his energy. Flowing through his hands and using the sword as a conduit, a deafening crack resounded through the room as a lightning bolt blinded the monsters, and shot right into the challenging werebear. The others stared in shock, their leader laying lifelessly on the ground, the entire front of his dirty shirt burned away where the destruction magic had burned through his body. They had scarcely any time to reflect on that as Ragnar set upon them, his sword swinging in from the side slicing one of the other non-transformed bears into two pieces and lodging his sword into one of the other bears heads. Tearing the blade out, he swung behind him, dismembering the limb that a bear had swung at him. Stumbling back and crying out, it's last moments were watching the stranger stab it's pulsing red blade into his chest. The last three had backed up, watching the carnage unfold and transforming into their more formidable form. Looking side to side, the middle bear growled and they all set upon the stranger at once, one at a time they didn't stand much of a chance, but three werebears was nearly an unstoppable force for one enemy. At least for most. Ragnar raised his blade over his head, and threw it forward at the lead animal, cutting deep into it and for the moment stopping its charge. Squaring his feet and bending his legs slightly, he swung a foot out as he called for the campfire. Reflecting the motion of his leg, the fire shot out from the burning wood and engulfed one of the werebear's legs, and as the monster fell the fire finished it off as well. Leaving one last bear coming at him, Ragnar stuck out a hand, using a spell to recall his blade towards him. The blade shot out of it's victim, only to impale itself into the last bear's back before it could finish it's charge at Ragnar. Sliding forward from momentum and stopping just as it reached him, Ragnar pulled out a knife, and pushed it as deep as the hilt into the eye, killing off this one. The last living werebear in the cave who he had thrown his sword into was struggling to get up from the floor as it saw Ragnar approach. The werebear had faced many dangerous opponents in it's life, but by Hircine this man had slaughtered them with brutal sword work, magic, and a combination of the two with mastery he had never even thought of. With no blood lust to spur it on, and fear holding the monster down, it changed itself back into a human. "P-please, you d-don't have to kill me." Ragnar took the final steps and looked down at the wretched thing below him. It would die even if he left it here, by blood loss or some other creature. Whichever took him first, it was no longer Ragnar's problem, it's suffering would be its final punishment for the slaughter. He turned his back on the pitiful werebear, hearing it choke up blood as it watched the dangerous nord go. That is until an arrow lodged itself deep into the thing's skull. As Ragnar had turned around, he had stopped as his eyes rested on a young Nordic woman, arrow drawn staring into the cave in horror, before releasing her arrow into the last monster left. He hadn't expected someone to come looking for whatever had killed those people so soon, he had taken action so quickly so that if anyone did come looking he would be done by the time they came. Obviously, this was not the case. The young nord looked at all the corpses in the room, victims as well as recently killed werebears, before resting on Ragnar himself. Her green eyes examined him curiously and suspiciously. Ragnar wanted to leave, but with the only way out blocked by the woman he was unsure of which action to take next. While he could kill her, he felt no need to as she hadn't done anything to give Ragnar reason too, if he tried to just walk out though she could see it as an attack and attempt to defend herself. Finally, she spoke, "Where in Talos' name did you get that sword?"

Freyja

She had followed the tracks the dead werebear had left to their den, or so she hoped it was. Blood was strewn about in the snow around it's entrance, as well as bones from previous victims. Tracks from both people and bears lead inside, and from what she knew of werebears they wouldn't be in their human skin unless they felt safe where they were. She was forced out of her musings though at the sudden noises coming from inside, and she quietly made her way in. From the sounds of it, there was a fight inside, and no good would come from rushing in blind to that. Tiptoeing her way in, a brief lull was followed by the sound of fire and an animalistic scream. The thin passage in finally opened up, and with an arrow nocked she peaked in. Bodies covered the floor, some had been cut apart, one was lit on fire, and deepest into the cave she saw the two parties that had taken part in the fight. A werebear lay on the ground in human form, speaking to the figure above him, begging she guessed. The figure though… he was something else. He was obviously a nord, this man looked as if he towered over other nords, and with the muscle to back it up. He had long black hair swept back reaching to his shoulders, and was covered in furs. It was however, what was in his hands that interested her the most, as she recognized the sword instantly. The infamous Bloodskaal blade of Solstheim, this blade had been wielded by both the Nerevarine and most recently the Dragonborn. And now it was in the hands of the man before her. He turned away from the dying werebear, his eyes fixing themselves on her, surprised to see someone else in this cave. She let her arrow fly, killing the pitiful creature, as the nord had obviously intended to let it suffer. She lowered her bow a bit and examined his front. The man looked slightly crazed, with the long unkempt beard and hair, but his blue eyes had an intensity that scared her. The sword shone red in the dark cave, with the dying fire sputtering out. "Where in Talos' name did you get that sword?" she finally managed to cough out. Whoever this was, he was dangerous. He had single handedly killed a pack of werebears who had made a group of twenty men their meal, and wielded a powerful ancient artifact. The nord made no comment, but his eyes never left her, he must've been thinking of what to say, or worse, what he was going to do. Freyja didn't like her odds, if he got violent she was facing a man in a space too small to effectively use her bow, and her opponent towered over her with a sword as long as she was tall. "Well, are you going to answer?" She was getting impatient, and the nord was showing no sign of speaking. Finally, he shook his head just enough to be seen, and sheathed the blade, nearly throwing them both into complete darkness. The dying light from the fire gave her just enough light to see the nord was coming towards her. "Stop right there!" Freyja pulled an arrow out, nocking it and pulling halfway back in case he got violent. The nord stopped for a moment, and Freyja's mind raced. This man could know something of the Dragonborn, but all she knew so far is that he was unresponsive and highly dangerous. Not a great combo. "Listen, as a companion I've vowed to never harm an innocent but you seem anything but right now…" she trailed off as the man finally had an emotion show on his face. At the mention of the companions his eyes lit up in anger and, hurt? "The, Companions?" She shivered as he finally spoke, his voice a deep baritone, it commanded respect and demanded attention. Gods who was this man? "Yes, the Companions, we're newly reformed after the incident in Whiterun that took our harbinger." Yes, he was definitely struggling to hold back his thoughts and emotions, she could tell that something about the Companions didn't sit well with the nord. The nord pulled his sword from the sheath, but before Freyja could pull her arrow back and fire the nord set it down in front of him and sat down. "Tell me of the companions… and I'll answer your questions about the blade." Well, he wasn't violent and promised answers, Freyja shrugged slightly and sat down, far enough from the man to have time to loose an arrow if he changed his mind. "Well, where to start, so you know of the old companions I'm guessing?" She asked out of curiosity more than anything, hoping he would say something of why he reacted so strongly to their mention. Instead she got a nod. Better than nothing she supposed. "After what happened in Whiterun, many lost hope. It took many months, but eventually many of us who had always hoped to be companions, and with help of one of the older members who was out on an assignment during the incident, we constructed a new hall in Whiterun, and the companions were reborn." She smiled a bit as the memories came to her. That had been before the occupation, when things were still ok, there was no Dragonborn, but she was finally a companion, she would finally be able to help heal her land and give people hope. "We functioned the same as the old companions, with Athis acting as harbinger since he was the only senior member left." Something flashed across the nord's face, but she couldn't identify it as it was wiped away as quickly as it came. "We also went out looking for artifacts the Dragonborn had collected in his adventures though, almost as religiously as the old companions searched for the pieces of Wuuthrad. It was hard, many took advantage of his death to claim the items, and for a while Skyrim was plagued by some of these weapons, each one we reclaimed we sent to the college of Winterhold for safekeeping, we didn't want the hall getting robbed." As she told the story the fire died out further until there was nothing left but the glow of the Bloodskaal blade. Freyja had relaxed slightly as she told the stories, but this nord was tensed, and didn't allow himself a moment to relax, his blue eyes burying themselves into her green ones. This nord was a man of intensity, a man of focus, and slightly unhinged. "That's what we've done for the last few years, the occupation stalled us a bit but we continue our work, just in secrecy now." She scoffed a bit, thinking of all the under the table agreements, hiding in the dark, she felt like a thief sneaking about as she had for the past years. "Occupation?" Freyja had been about to launch herself into another story before his deep voice made itself known. "Yes, the occupation? What about it?" It'd been going on for three years, this wasn't something that escaped notice so easily. Or so she thought, as he seemed confused. "Are you serious, you don't know about the occupation?" He shook his head. "I'm not sure how you don't," she quirked an eyebrow at his appearance, it was very likely this man had been out here alone for a while, she shouldn't be surprised he didn't know. "Well, I'm not sure how ignorant you are of current events but a lot has happened the past few years." She wished she could be ignorant of the world like this man, if only so she could in good conscience hide away and leave others to deal with it. "The Empire and the Dominion went to war, and the empire didn't win, with our southern borders exposed, the invasion tore Skyrim apart."

Ragnar

Years of exile had given him time to think of what the world was like, all the possibilities. Many of his thoughts had centered on the gods damned Thalmor and their actions with himself out of the picture, but he had never imagined they would have taken such swift action. Ragnar had been sure that even if a war had occurred, the Dominion would only have the numbers necessary to take Cyrodiil, and that worst-case scenario they would stop their advance there. He had been wrong, very wrong. "They pushed up through pale pass, Falkreath fell first, then the Rift." The young companion sitting opposite him continued her story, oblivious to the rapid thoughts going through his head. That was no surprise though, he had grown excellent at making his face an impassive unreadable mask, even if some of her words had taken her off guard. "With those two holds under firm Dominion control, the Jarls called a moot, elected Balgruuf high king. His first order was to gather all of Skyrim's armies, and he led them to battle on the plains of Whiterun." Her eyes seemed to be looking far off now. Ragnar knew she had been there that day just from how spoke of the events, her eyes had seen the horrors of battle. "It was the grandest force I'd ever seen, the most united I'd seen the land since the days of the Dragonborn. Our thousands stared off at the coming Thalmor force, and we stood our ground." The woman set her jaw defiantly, proudly. "They outnumbered us, with the addition of khajit and bosmer forces augmenting their base army. And yet still, we held our lines, pushed them off, Whiterun's cavalry forces wreaking havoc on their flanks, Eastmarch had its famed berserkers slaying their way behind enemy lines, our army stood its own." Ragnar felt deep down something, maybe pride? He couldn't tell, it was too faint to identify and had been too long since he'd felt anything to be positive of it. All he knew is that the thought of killing elves sat well with him. "Our only real weakness against them was our lack of magic users, the college of Winterhold, along with court mages and mercenary magic users were all we had, using massive ward spells to block any large destruction spells from shattering ranks." Freyja was staring down at his blade, thoughts of the battle probably battling through her mind. "As the sun set, it set on a free Skyrim. We had won the battle; the Dominion forces withdrew and celebrations followed. For the next week we had scouting forces and all the cavalry we could muster harrying their forces as it retreat back to safety, hundreds more of the elves fell in their retreat. Many considered the war won before it could truly begin, the elves had retreat back to Falkreath and The Rift, and many were adamant on advancing to reclaim the lost holds." She frowned deeper at that, and she stopped speaking for a few minutes, lost in the depths of the Bloodskaal blade. Ragnar remained silent, watching her, waiting. She mustered up her thoughts again, continuing, "we weren't truly united though, that was our downfall." She shook her head sadly. "When the Dragonborn died, so did our unity, and the Thalmor knew that. They convinced the Forsworn that with Markarth's army in Whiterun, that the perfect time to strike was upon them. It didn't take long after the news of Markarth's fall for its Jarl to sally out with his army to reclaim his city. Up north, scouts in High Rock reported of a Thalmor fleet sailing to Solitude, believing that the next decisive battle would be there and going against high king Balgruuf's commands, Solitude and Morthal marched their armies back to defend their homes. The Dominion forces in The Rift moved north, towards Windhelm, prompting yet another army to leave the gathered forces at Whiterun." Ragnar knew that had always been Skyrim's weakness of late. The holds didn't see themselves as all just one part of a whole, but as nine lands all looking out for themselves, banding together when it was convenient. The threat of the Dominion must have spooked them enough that even with a high king the Jarls had done whatever they had wanted if it meant keeping their own personal kingdom intact, never thinking of the bigger picture. "So, when the Dominion army marched on Whiterun again, it was a different story." Ragnar could easily imagine what had happened, when the much smaller undermanned Nordic army had again been set against the armies of the Thalmor. "The whole battle we were pushed back and back until we were pressed against Whiterun's walls, and glorious high king Balgruuf led all of Whiterun's cavalry in one last charge." There was nothing but admiration in her voice for the man, a man Ragnar had respected himself. "He gave the main force time to retreat into the city, while the bulk of the Dominion army was tied up dealing with thousands of bloodthirsty nords on crazed steeds. While Balgruuf went out in one last act of bravery, others didn't act quite so noble. Every Jarl still remaining in the army fled with as many of their men as they could, leaving just Whiterun's depleted forces to defend our home." The young Nordic woman shook her head, and looked up at him finally, her eyes full of defeat at the memories. "They took Whiterun. And after that they took Markarth from the forsworn, who had destroyed Jarl Igmund's armies. Skyrim never stopped fighting the elves, they just stopped doing it together." She took another pause, this one much longer than the last as she cast her eyes down at the floor in front of her, gloved fingers seeking to do anything to get her mind off of the tale she told him. Ragnar had never imagined things would have gotten this bad in his absence, although he should have known. "All that remains, after all these years of fighting, is Windhelm. As hold after hold fell, and cities fell under the watchful and iron fist of the Thalmor, all free nords looking for a fight went to Windhelm. It's only a matter of time though. That's why I asked about the blade you wield, because if you know where more of the Dragonborn's weapons could be, we could use them, give people hope, remind them of when Skyrim was strong." Ragnar, for the first time since she had entered his sight, took his eyes away from her. She was so full of… hope. She believed that they could still win. Years ago, he would have thought the same if he was in her situation, but for the past few years all that he could express was the need to get more food and his wish for death. It was odd to see someone so passionate before him, a man now devoid of it. "Worse than you thought isn't it?" a tall dark elf spirit now sat to the left of the young nord woman, gazing at him accusingly. "I told you that if you didn't act then others would, now you've heard the consequences of your actions." The hero of Kvatch was on her right, the same accusations in his eyes. Others were behind the two, spirits of past heroes, of all races looking down at him. He was past caring of their opinions. Right? "Well, now that I've told you of the companions, and the war, maybe now you can tell me how you came across that blade?" Her green eyes told him that while she wanted to hold back her expectations and hope, that she couldn't help but feel both bubbling up inside of her. "I can tell you this, nobody gave this blade to me, I found it." It was the truth, at least it was the most he was willing to tell. She piqued an eyebrow, obviously a little skeptical. "So, this super powerful ancient artifact wielded by both the Dragonborn and Nerevarine, the very sword you have before us, you found it?" This woman didn't believe a word he had said, of course that's because she didn't know he was Dragonborn, he would have doubted the truth of his words if the roles were reversed. He gave her a terse nod. He still wasn't used to speaking, and he wasn't about to try and start speaking more than necessary. "Well who are you then, why are you here, why did you kill the werebears, where did you find the sword, where have you been all these years that you've missed some of the most important events of the era, what interest do you have in the companions?!" With each question her volume rose, she wasn't happy to have met a wall in her line of questioning. He had planned to go back to his cave hours ago, now he was trapped in a cave by a woman who was unknowingly bringing up his past. Gods damn him.

Freyja

To say she was slightly annoyed at the silence of the nord in front of her was to say the obvious. She had shared two significant parts of her past, only to receive the bare minimum in return when she asked her question. At her outburst of questions, the man had the audacity to sigh! "Come on, just start with why you're here at least." It would be a start, if she could get him to start talking, then maybe she could keep doing it until she managed to get the answers she wanted and learn where he'd gotten the Dragonborn's sword. "Fine. They became a problem so I solved the problem." She scoffed a bit, calling a pack of murderous bloodthirsty werebears a problem was probably an understatement, although she had a feeling that's exactly what they were to him. "They tried to kill you, so you came here to get them first?" It seemed reasonable enough, at least to her until he spoke up again, just as emotionless as ever. "No. They haven't bothered me for years, but killing those people was bound to draw attention." Her eyes glanced over at the pile of mutilated bodies in the corner. The fact that she could sit in this cave with their scent dominating her nostrils said something to what she had lived through. "What do you mean they haven't bothered you for years, were you hidden from them?" There's no way that werebears would just share a territory with someone, they'd just kill the other. "They didn't get in my way and I didn't kill them, right up until today that was our agreement." Freyja struggled to hide the fact that she shivered a little at his statement. What kind of person could force a pack of werebears to share their territory with him simply out of fear of death? "Who in Talos' name are you?" She needed to know this, learning who he was would help her know how he got the sword, gods, they could use a man like him in their fight against the occupation. While his face was a mask, she could tell from how his eyes looked at her, almost as if they were looking into her very soul, that he was thinking of what to say. For the third time that night they sat in silence, the strange nord's eyes never moving from her own. Freyja accepted the challenge, returning the stare evenly, letting it be known that she wouldn't back down until she got answers. It seemed like they sat there for hours, Freyja patiently waiting for a response, the nord questioning if he should answer, or perhaps how he should answer. At long last, he spoke. "I'm no one anymore, except a man waiting to die. Ragnar." Freyja was both surprised and expecting this sort of answer, he looked exactly as an exile should, and anyone who walked into a werebear layer alone had to have a death wish. "Well, Ragnar, I am Freyja of the Companions, servant of Whiterun, daughter of Skyrim." The nord, Ragnar apparently, just grunted as she introduced herself. "Now, I'd like to hear a little bit more about how you came to have that sword Ragnar." She had come all the way from Whiterun to follow up leads in Solstheim for anything the Dragonborn might have left here, she'd let the daedra tear her apart before she left empty handed. "I've said all there is to know, I came across it in my travels." Freyja was lucky she had gotten this man to speak at all she surmised, if he was truly as much of an exile as she guessed, but that didn't mean that she wasn't frustrated. "Well where then did you find it, and when? I'm guessing it was after the Dragonborn's death." The nord didn't answer, grabbing the hilt and lifting it off the floor of the cave, it's faint red-light casting shadows on the walls of the cave. With no answer from him, she decided it was time to move onto something he would talk about, since this wasn't a subject he wished to discuss then. "Why are you here then, on Solstheim, in the mountains, who are you hiding from?" Her guess was that this man was a dangerous criminal, and instead of living his life imprisoned, went somewhere nobody would find him, because there was no one at all there. Still no answer. Freyja was getting very impatient. "Fine, what are you willing to tell me, I'm not letting you leave until I'm satisfied that weapon is safe in your hands." She actually was unsure if she could in fact keep him in here, but at this point she wanted answers, and he hadn't acted violently towards her, she doubted he'd start now. His mouth opened slightly after a second to answer, before the cave shook around them. Ragnar was on his feet in a second, sword at the ready as he looked towards the entrance. That's when they heard the roar outside that Freyja had very, very rarely in her life heard before. There was a dragon waiting for them outside this cave.

Ragnar

The dragon was in a way a blessing, he wouldn't have to deal with the small nosy nord now, at the very least. As the thing roared again he felt the cave shake, and didn't put it past the creature to collapse the cave slowly to get whatever was inside to come out. Obviously this dovah had been forced to come north and was going to try and make these northern mountains its new hunting grounds. That was the dragon's first mistake. Freyja had gotten onto her feet and looked at him questionably. Seems that the woman who had thought it fit to threaten him was now deferring to his judgement on what to do. "Stay in here out of the way, I'll be back." It's best she not be around, especially if the dovah recognized him. Ragnar made his way to the thin passage that led inside, only to see a few dozen feet away in the entrance the large scaled head of the dovah who had come to make them their meal. Damn the werebears, the blood trail must have led it here. Its eyes focused on him and Ragnar watched as it reared its head back slightly before a torrent of flames rained down upon him. Or at least it would have, had he not stuck a fist out, firing out his own wall of flames right back. The dovah pulled its head away from the cave in surprise as its shout was cut in half and its head was bathed in flame. Of course, the dragon wasn't harmed in any major way, dragons were resistant to flame. The trick served its purpose though, as the dragon lifted itself off the ground, flying up before circling the cave, sending a fireball into the mountain where it knew the cave to be. Ragnar steadied himself as the cave shook yet again. This fight needed to be taken outside before the cave was collapsed with himself and the young companion inside. Throwing off his outer layers of furs, leaving just a sleeveless shirt and pants to cover his limbs, the more clothing he wore the more likely he would be to get lit on fire by himself or the dovah. The dragon passed over him, and he slowly inhaled the cold air outside, setting himself into a preparatory stance to help channel energy, before releasing a larger, deadlier version of the lightning he had used against the werebear earlier. Channeling it through two fingers to aim it more accurately, the dragon roared as the joint between wing and body was cleanly broken, sending the graceful monster crashing into the ground nearby. When he had first practiced such magic, using a spell like that would have exhausted him completely, now even after years of no practice, he still barely felt the expended energy. Walking towards the creature sword unsheathed and ready, the dovah righted itself and tucked its injured wing toward its body, clearly in pain, sending another jet of fire at Ragnar. Swinging the sword above his head and down towards the snow, a red wave of energy did the same as his fire did in the mouth of the cave. The wave cut through the fire, striking the dovah's snout and causing a dark puddle of dragon blood to pool under its mouth. Ragnar continued his way closer to the dragon, and now it began to see that it was clearly outmatched, even if its opponent was many times smaller than it. Its head darted forward, the dragon intending to eat the nord marching towards it, only to have the snow under it to be thrust into the bottom of its head, lifting the dovah's head up higher than the top of the nords head, and froze there leaving its neck exposed. Ragnar shook his head, this must have been a young one, it was in no way experienced at fighting, not that one of the ancients would have stood a chance against him either. With almost bored effort Ragnar swung the blade through the thing's throat before it could wrestle its way out of the frozen snow he'd thrust its head up with. It didn't take long for the blood to flow out, and Ragnar sighed. The poor dragon hadn't known who it had intended to make its meal, unaware that it had challenged the Dragonbo- oh gods. Ragnar was a fool, a complete utter fool. He looked up in alarm to the cavemouth, where an openmouthed Freyja must have witnessed his fight against the dovah, Ragnar just now realizing that he should have just scared the creature off, when the dragon's skin started melting into light, right into Ragnar's body. He used to crave this feeling, the rush of energy, of conquest and domination that came with it. After years of nothing, no emotion, no passion, not even living, just existing, it was incredible, he felt AWAKENED. Memories and experiences flashed past his eyes, all that the dragon knew, he now did. The soul settled itself into his, now fully absorbed, and the world was left in its bleak whiteness as it was before. Ragnar had gone down to one knee, the sudden, unexpected sensation had been too much for a man who had gone years without it. As he slowly gained back control of himself, he slowly lifted his head where he had last seen the companion. She was running towards him, looking thoroughly baffled at the events that had transpired.

Freyja

What in the gods names did she just witness. Ragnar had been incredible, she had fully expected to enter Sovngarde when the dragon had opened its mouth letting out a blast of fire, only to find that Ragnar was just as capable of sending out streams of it himself. Not only was he a dangerous capable warrior, but a powerful mage too? She'd done things she had never even thought possible, the lightning, the wave of energy he released from the Bloodskaal blade, freezing its head up above himself so he could cut its throat open. This was all unbelievable, but then he'd absorbed the monster's soul. That simply wasn't possible. Only the Dragonborn could do that, and he was… dead? She was so confused. Accounts of the night the Dragonborn died was mixed and vague as none were sure of the exact details. All that could be said for sure is that in the dead of night, Jorvasskr was burned to the ground with everyone in it left trapped inside, already dead or dying. By the time the Whiterun guard had managed to get through the burned down rubble into the stone basement quarters, everyone was already dead, burned beyond recognition. The Companions were all but gone, only Athis hadn't been present during the incident, the only one left to continue their traditions. Was it possible that this exiled nord could be… Freyja had run to where he was, kneeling in the center of where the soul had disappeared into. His eyes looked at her, wary, and this only furthered her suspicions. "Your name, it's not Ragnar, is it?" The nord was silent, slowly standing to his full height, heads taller than her, his broad shoulders and muscled frame bare to the elements now that his furs were shed. "It is now." With that the nord marched past her, off towards the cave, beckoning her to follow. Freyja walked after him without question, she needed answers after that display. Ragnar didn't look back, he stepped into the now burned cave entrance, picking up his furs and throwing them on before settling down where the two had talked before. Of course, in the few minutes between that conversation and now, everything had changed. If the Dragonborn lived… Skyrim had hope, the people would unite under his banner, the Dominion wouldn't be prepared to fight against an enemy they thought dead or a sudden uprising he would surely incite. With that in mind though, why was he here? The world had thought him dead for years, until Freyja had found a wild hermit who obviously cared little for anything, including himself. The mighty Dragonborn of legend now living in the middle of nowhere clad in animal furs, not many would believe her. Freyja sat down across from him, while she was still wary of him, she doubted at this point he would harm her, he was the Dragonborn after all. "I should kill you." Ragnar said as she sat herself down, unsettling given what she had been thinking. "Why is that, Dragonborn?" Ragnar didn't look happy at the use of the title and grit his jaw. "Do not call me that, I'm not who you think I am." The man seemed genuine, and for the first time since she'd met him, his emotions played openly on his face, this man was defeated. His eyes reflected a deep sadness, his shoulders were slouched, whatever had happened to him, had changed him. "Then who are you, Ragnar of Solstheim?" The nord seemed more comfortable with that for now, no wonder if it was his chosen identity since his alleged death. His eyes looked up at her question, burning into her. "A dead man, waiting for the after life to take me." Freyja was so confused right now, she should be angry at him for letting Skyrim become as bad as it was, but seeing the man of legend before her, she couldn't be. He was broken, shattered, barely held together by the promise that eventually he would die, and a self-adopted name. "That night the companions hall burned, everyone thought you died, but what really happened, you used to be the Dragonborn, I know that at the very least." Ragnar stood up, looking down at the Bloodskaal sword, where he had set it down between them, the last relic of his past he had kept. "I exacted vengeance on those who destroyed the hall, that was the last thing I had left to live for, the only reason I had to breath. Now I'm here." Freyja had spent her story telling remembering all that had transpired at the Battle of Whiterun, now she could see him sifting through memories he had left untouched for years back on the surface of his thoughts. "Uniting Skyrim wasn't a reason to live, caring for your people, defending them, defending your legacy wasn't important?" Freyja stood as well, closing the distance, her anger consuming her. While moments ago she had felt no ill will at his actions, his words called her to action. This man claimed that there was nothing left to live for, he had let the world believe him dead for years because of this?! "You let your grief control you, Skyrim has suffered because you've let yourself become entrapped in your own sorrow!" She shoved the nord roughly, only managing to throw his furs off, the massive man barely moving. "Skyrim didn't fall because one man wasn't there for the fight, Skyrim didn't need me it needed a symbol, one the weak divided land couldn't cough up. The sentimental fools are hung up on the legend of a man whose own name isn't known, only his title." Ragnar looked down at her, his disgust present, as well as his anger. "The Dragonborn isn't who you think he is, and HE IS DEAD!" The temperature rose and Freyja backed away as the angry force of nature continued his rant. "My home invaded in the dead of night, I gave everything to my country and what do I get in return, my family SLAIN!" Ragnar stood still now, looking at nowhere as she saw his eyes reliving the night. "I did all I could and it wasn't enough, my family is dead because of me." He stumbled down into a sitting position on the cave floor, defeat written across his features. "So, I came to Solstheim, where the perpetrators thought they'd be safe from me, I killed them, and then died. The Dragonborn died, leaving Ragnar." Freyja was in shock. She had no idea that the Dragonborn had a family, there was never any talk about it, Athis hadn't even spoken of them. "Ragnar, I-I'm so sorry…" she was unsure what to say now, finding a broken Dragonborn hiding in exile hadn't exactly been something she predicted occurring. Counseling him through it, also not something she thought would ever happen. Ragnar was sitting on the cave floor, looking at the wall but at the same time looking at nothing, acting as if unaware of her existence. Freyja scooted over, within arms reach of him, not knowing what to do. For the moment, she just took the time to examine him now that she was closer. With the furs off, she got a better look at him, and was horrified at the little she could see. With the sleeveless shirt Freyja examined his bare arms, covered in scars everywhere she could see. Whether it be bite marks, cuts, burns, torn off chunks, his arms were just a mess of muscle mass and scar tissue. Freyja could only see one scar at the base of his neck, and a vertical face scar from the base of his jaw, up along his cheek, ending near the edge of his eye. His beard was long and unkempt like his hair, upon closer look the black was mixed with slight brown, and his eyes while strikingly blue had grey mixed into them, and seemed to see everything. It was several minutes of her gazing upon him, slightly in disbelief that she was so close to the Dragonborn, if a bit disappointed at the situation it came about in. "Ragnar, can I ask… who did it?" her words seemed to pull him out of his reverie, his eyes focused and he looked over to where she'd moved. "The Thalmor found a werewolf pack with a grudge against us, and the two groups snuck into the city and assaulted the hall in the dead of night." Freyja had questions, but was afraid if she interrupted that he would close back up, this was the first time he'd opened up on his own. "I awoke to screams, and fire. The halls were filled with smoke, and I told my family to follow me. I cleared a path through the smoke, and ascended the stairs, where I saw them all waiting for us to come up like trapped rats. Thalmor agents and werewolves alike, battling my outnumbered brothers." He paused briefly, and Freyja watched him breath in, the temperature in the cave rose again. Ragnar was, unstable it seemed. His powers were vast, but his sanity was broken. "I rushed into the fight, doing all I could to tip the odds into our favor. The Thalmor had prepared well, using illusion magic to make it seem that the hall was in no trouble looking at it from the outside, and that no noise would escape the hall. So, we fought." The temperature fell again, his face becoming unreadable again, as he regained control of himself. "They'd braced the doors with magic, I had one of our men trying to break it open so that my family could escape, so that we could get help, I'd have opened the door myself but the Thalmor assaulted me with magic to keep me busy. That's when it happened. One of the werewolves had slain a companion, the last man holding them from the group trying to get out." She was completely transfixed now, if she closed her eyes, she felt as if the scene was playing before her eyes, the burning, screaming, metal on metal, bloodshed, all of it. "I shot the beast through with lightning, another one of them raked his claws across my side while I was distracted, by then it was too late, my aim was off, the attack was painful, but not deadly." Ragnar's hand unconsciously went to his ribs, brushing over where she guessed he had taken the wound. "The monster had already killed my-" Ragnar choked the word out, "daughter before the lightning had struck, and as I fended off the wolf who'd struck me, it got my wife, both dead in just moments." Ragnar looked at her now, and Freyja was shocked by the sheer emotion his eyes held. "By then, it was only me left of the companions, and just a few Thalmor and some wolves. The Thalmor destroyed their dead so the bodies wouldn't be found in the rubble and escaped with the wolves, I followed as quickly as I could but my wound… I was hurt badly. The wolves knew of a route the companions used to come and go from Whiterun in secret, under our forge, and used it to enter and exit the city, where they escaped, myself hot on their heels. All I had was the Bloodskaal sword and the clothes on my back, but I gave them no rest, my vengeance drove my body faster than any normal man could take. The wolves and Thalmor barely kept ahead of me, and eventually I managed to grab one of the Thalmor who'd lagged behind, found out that the group was heading for a port on Solstheim where a ship awaited to take them to Dominion land." Ragnar lit a flame in his hand, a small one, and watched the flames dance before him, thinking back on those weeks of hunting, years ago. "I left only ashes of the elf, found transport north, and finally faced them at the small outpost port they had constructed." Freyja could only imagine him, the Dragonborn in all his might, ravaged by loss, spending weeks with his emotions festering until he finally found his prey. "I destroyed the boat first, sank it so they knew it was either kill me, or die. And then I killed them. Every last Thalmor knew my rage that night. And then I was… empty. I had no purpose. The world thought everyone in the hall to be dead from the fire. There was nothing left of me, just the thought of going to Sovngarde upon my death to be with my family, so I've waited here in the mountains for that death." Freyja had experienced the death of freedom in Whiterun, but she hadn't lost her family, she couldn't even imagine that. "I'd have killed myself already but doing so would mean entrance to Sovngarde would be impossible." He'd gotten that bad, she realized, bad enough that the hero of their age would consider taking his own life. As far as the Thalmor knew, the Dragonborn died in Jorvasskr with his family. She doubted he'd have been left alone if they knew he'd survived their attempt on his life back in Whiterun. "I'm, sorry for what I said. I didn't realize what you'd gone through," Freyja felt the hot sting of guilt now that she knew why he had decided to remain dead to the world. The hermit shook his head a bit but remained quiet for now.

Ragnar

The Nerevarine stood looking down upon him, the Hero of Kvatch at his side. Their spirits had been present the entire time he'd told his tale, they had lived the experiences through his eyes anyways, but seemingly had wanted to let him know they were there to listen as well. "You struck the hand, but it's not the limb that decides whether to strike or not," the Nerevarine nodded at the imperial's words. "Your families true killers walk free, not to mention one of the fingers yet lives." To add to his point the ghost wiggled an armored finger in front of him, the two spirits were alone for now, others of his past lives left him alone for now. Freyja's presence remained, watching him. He'd been coerced out of one of his flashbacks to continue his story for her, knowing she'd spent the time examining him. He imagined she reacted the same as most who saw the Dragonborn out of his armor. Disgust. Many didn't realize the toll of being the sort of symbol and icon he was to Skyrim. His body was covered in scars, burns, injuries of all types and sorts. His chest was much worse, most enemies aimed at either the chest or head when attacking, and between the two Ragnar would rather take a hit to his chest. Besides his bare scarred arms, he for the first time in a while wondered at the condition of his hair, and beard. He knew it had grown long and wild, if her reaction at his initial appearance was anything to go by. His eyes travelled to look at her, green eyes immediately meeting his. If he was sure of one thing, it was that this young woman had spirit. Few would meet his eyes with as much challenge as she, especially after a display of his powers like he had shown against the dragon earlier. Freyja was made of good stock, she had to be to survive this deep into Solstheim. Two short swords adorned her hips, and a quiver poked its way over her shoulder, typical weapons of a lightly armored skirmisher, or a scout. The leather armor probably did better to keep her warm than heavier metal armor. Long brown hair was pulled into a simple braid reaching down between her shoulder blades. She was a small woman, although most people were small compared to him. There were few others he had met that were bigger than himself, those that were had hit the point where they seemed overly large. Balancing strength with endurance had been a challenge, but Ragnar had mastered it young in his life and had only gotten better at it as the years went by, not that his time of exile had helped. Ragnar let his eyes move back to her own green ones, wondering where to go from here. She beat him to it however, surprising him. "Ragnar, if you'd let me, I would like to remain with you up here for a time." His brow furrowed as he wondered at the sudden proposition, although his threat on her life may have something to do with it. "Why?" Talking was still very different to him, and he didn't enjoy that today had brought so much of it. "You wish to remain here, I'm guessing, as you have for years, but that doesn't mean you can't help me at the same time." The same glint of hope from earlier in the day shone in her eyes, obviously what she was about to ask was important to her. "Your adventures are legendary, as are the artifacts, some of which we've recovered. With your instruction and experience, I'd like to learn as much as I can about them, so I can use every tool we have access to against the dominion." The ghostly spirit of the imperial nodded his head approvingly, clapping the Nerevarine on the shoulder, the dark elf as professional as ever. "I… suppose that would be fine."

Freyja

She'd seen her share of men who didn't sleep well. Living with the companions, going out into the field on missions, she had noticed when one of the others would wake from a bad dream, or awake startled at something they had believed to be really happening. Ragnar was going through something else entirely at the moment. Once he'd granted his permission to let her stay with him, they had made their way to his cave miles away, a small cave adorned with furs and food. He had spent hours into the night staring off at the wall, likely recounting old memories that the days event had stirred. Freyja couldn't fall asleep and had gone about carving a small piece of wood, then laying down on a sleeping roll she'd had in her pack restlessly awaiting sleep. At some point she finally managed to enter sleep. It was only a few hours later she found herself awaking to strange noises coming from across the cave. Tiptoeing her way to where Ragnar slept, she saw him rolling side to side, whatever words he was speaking in the dream came out only as mutterings, and the dream became violent again as he swung about, surely his dream self was setting into the enemy. While she had seen people mutter a bit and roll around, it wasn't nearly this bad. His movements were violent and jerky, his face fixed into a snarl, whatever battle he was reliving must have been one of epic proportions. It continued for well onto an hour, many times longer she'd ever seen one go for. Then it was two hours, she had sat down in the center of the cave, watching in rapt attention to the man. It was halfway through the third hour his torso shot up and he threw off a fur, looking around with crazed eyes. "Up UP! The orcs have set upon the leftern force across the river!" Freyja stood up in shock, taking a step back before he grabbed her shoulder, as if it would help her understand his words. "Ragnar what are you talking about?!" His grip was tightening, although his eyes were returning to normal, and finally his arms dropped, as his eyes scanned his surroundings. "Ragnar… yes. Ragnar." He spoke the words to himself as if to confirm it, and walked to where he had slept, sitting back down.

"Ragnar, what was that?" Freyja had never seen something like this, and his statement itself was odd. She'd never read about the Dragonborn doing combat against the orcs in his ventures. "Just old memories." The nord had nothing left to say and laid himself back down, his eyes open and staring at the ceiling, one of his hands rubbing at a spot below his ribs. She guessed that the scarred man associated memories with old wounds, the mention of one prompted the other to unconsciously make itself known. Many of the older men she had known would proudly wave their old scars around as they told exaggerated stories of its origin. Ragnar did no such thing, though to be fair he didn't say much anyways. "What happened?" She was sitting in the middle of the cave, head cocked slightly in curiosity. She would be lying if she said she didn't want to stick around to hear more stories of his past. The nord grunted questioningly at her. "What happened with the orcs, you said they'd engaged the flank over the river or?" For many moments he said nothing, before propping himself up on an elbow and locking his eyes on hers. "Before I was the Dragonborn, I was a mercenary in High Rock, the dream was one of the worse skirmishes we fought against orc raiders." His hand rubbed the spot again, and Freyja made her way over, Ragnar's eyes suspicious as she neared. Getting just close enough to be within arms-reach, she held out a tentative hand to the spot he had been touching. If she were to get this man to teach her how to defeat the Dominion, she would have to get him to open up to her, that meant learning of his past, and the remnants it left. His eyes darted to the hand reaching towards him, but he didn't stop it, only moving his hand off of the spot. Freyja's hand felt through the rough texture of the shirt, pressing against his body, immediately coming into contact against a thick vertical scar under his ribs. "Orc spear, threw me off my horse and into the mud, taught me to never stop paying attention to my surroundings." Her fingers felt the scar, but even with the limited contact she could feel several others close to it before she moved her hand away. "How old were you when you got that one?" She wasn't exactly sure of his age, but the Dragonborn was young when he first began his legendary journey into being Skyrim's savior. It took the nord a moment to think of the answer, before he finally settled on an accurate as he could get number. "Round' sixteen, it was the beginning of the Wayrest Wars, when it was still just skirmishes." Gods, sixteen?! She'd been confined to within Whiterun's city limits when she was sixteen, hadn't begun formal weapons training until she was nineteen. It made sense though, only a man whose life was war would have the fortitude of will to fight threats like Alduin. "Was that one of your first battles?" She hoped it was, if he was robbed of a childhood as well as cursed with a life full of crisis' and world ending events then he was truly damned by the gods. "It was one of the first few I directly fought in, my father let me watch his mercenaries engage enemy forces beginning when I was thirteen." The nord looked thoughtful now, Freyja could only imagine what he was thinking of, she'd never heard mention of his father, or his past before Helgen. "I got my first real taste of battle when I was eighteen, at Riverbreak fort, the orc army was attempting to use the bridge there to cross into Breton lands, and my father's mercenary company was paid to hold it along with garrisoned Breton troops. The Breton fought hard but were undermanned in the area from constant fighting against orcs and other city states. With my father's men and some other mercenary groups, we were nearly even, which still left us disadvantaged against the orcish heavy infantry." Freyja's eyes remained upon Ragnar's blue ones, staring off into the past remembering the story he shared with her. "He trusted me to hold the line with the men, and that's exactly what I did. If that bridge fell, we didn't get paid, which meant that if I wanted to eat that I would hold our forces until the orcs gave up. Luckily for us the orcs didn't have any battle shamans with them that day, letting the Breton spell swords to wreak havoc on them, I doubt we'd have lasted long without their support." One of his hands scratched at his thigh, rough calloused fingers digging against a scar most likely. Her hand was on it the second his wasn't, and his eyes snapped back onto her at the contact, before he continued the story. "Even with their support, we barely kept them at bay. They needed the food their raiding provided to keep their villages fed, we were fighting a desperate hungry enemy. One of their battle axes found its way through our shield wall and into my thigh, cutting through the armor like it was wet paper." Her fingers moved down the long-scarred gash, nearly a foot in length. "One of the spell swords was near and able to heal it quickly before I bled out, though by then the battle was nearly over anyways, the orcs were forced to retreat for easier pickings." As her hand finished feeling the wound, she pulled it back and rested it on her own thigh. She much preferred this story teller than the one last night. The tale of losing his loved ones and the vengeance that followed showed just how unstable the Dragonborn's mind was. Right now though, he seemed a different man, a nostalgic nord just telling yet another war story. It didn't last long, as the story finished and his thoughts of the years following the battle no doubt flooded his mind. "I'll be going back to sleep, I recommend the same to you." As polite a dismissal as he could muster, Freyja got the message and walked back to her sleeping roll, noting that for the next hour his eyes remained open, staring into the wall as if it held all the answers, and that simply staring it into submission would force it to tell him what he needed. She had a long job ahead of her if she wanted to coerce this broken man to return to Skyrim with her.


	2. Chapter 2

Ragnar

Sharing his exile was impossible with her around. While the agreement to let Freyja stay with him was the best alternative to outright killing her it was posing to be an entirely different problem. His time spent on Solstheim was for the most part a blur, his entire stay Ragnar had repressed any and all thought. The result was a body that drew breath, ate, continued living, but a mind which had long ago shut off. Now, it was awakening. Constantly memories flooded his mind, experiences, places, people, all rushing to the forefront of his thoughts. The only time he had struggled with this issue was when he had first contained himself to the mountains of Solstheim, and after a few months he was essentially a hyper deadly draugr with an excess of hair. This draugr was very annoyed to say the least. Ragnar cast an eye behind him, his vision cast upon the lithe nord following where he'd created a path, her smaller form struggling through the snow. Ragnar could count on one hand the number of times he'd told someone of his past in Wayrest, and that was without using all the fingers as well. This young companion was proving to be excellent at getting him to speak about his past, something Ragnar was reluctant to acknowledge let alone speak about. Ragnar pushed himself a few steps higher, up to the edge of a cliff just a bit over a mile from his cave, taking in a deep breath as he paused to take in the view. Nothing had changed since he'd been here last, while he hadn't known the cause of the influx of refugees until Freyja told him of the occupation of his homeland, he had noticed the number steadily rise. Since then, he had made sure to look out for any groups attempting to establish a settlement in a valley south of the mountains that wasn't as hostile as many other places in Solstheim. "Gods above." Ragnar spared a glance to his right, where Freyja had ended her trek alongside him. Her brilliant green eyes looked out at the surrounding island in admiration, Ragnar noted that while he used the view for purely strategic reasons, he could admit that it was a very nice view. "So, you've brought me to your favorite sunrise locale then, is that it?" Ragnar let out a grunt. She had an attitude Aela would've loved.

"I brought you up here to meditate actually." His eyes focused back out on the landscape in front of them, before kneeling and then crossing his legs over each other, beckoning Freyja to do the same. "How is meditating supposed to help? I don't think the Thalmor will be very impressed at my ability to sit still for a long time." The nord had been adamant upon their awakening that Ragnar begin the day by showing her some method to kill elves with. "Do as I say, and you'll see." No good would come from an impatient student, besides, the sooner she began meditating the sooner she'd shut up. Letting out an annoyed huff, the companion finally plopped herself down, one leg over the other, closing her eyes and attempting at least to meditate. It lasted only a few moments before her eyes popped open. "How long are we going to do this?" Ragnar supposed it was probably too much to expect the young woman to be good at this, but her mind needed to be clear for him to try what he wanted. "Clear your mind, focus on your breathing, and relax." He didn't even bother opening his eyes to instruct her, only listened for the tell-tale signs that she heeded his words. It took a while longer than he thought, but eventually she fell into a sort of half sleep. This is the best he was going to get. Standing up silently, he made his way behind her, taking in a deep breath for what would happen next. Hopefully, if she had listened to him, this wouldn't hurt. Thrusting one hand forward his fingers found the spot on the back of her neck he was searching for, while his other hand pushed her face so it faced towards the sky, his thumb resting right between her brows. "W-what are you doing!" Giving her mind no more time to awake, he pushed the memory into her. The bright green eyes which had looked up at him, went dull suddenly as the process completed, and he remained in their current position for a few minutes longer. It took longer than expected, but the last elements of the experience entered Freyja, and he allowed himself to kneel beside her. Freyja's body was limp for the time being, lost in the thoughts Ragnar had put her in, so he gently laid her out, waiting for the moment she would wake. She may be angry that he had chosen to do this without telling her, but he also assumed that Freyja would more than likely be ecstatic to have seen what he'd shared with her. It was a taste of what she wanted, and for the time being would keep her off his back. For the time being Ragnar allowed himself to focus on the view in front of him, while the sun had already risen it didn't take away from the picture. While he much more enjoyed his brain-dead way of life, his reawakening came with an appreciation for things like this. He now realized how bland his food was. You lose some you win some.

Freyja

This body was not her own. That was the first thing she noticed, quickly followed with the question of what in Talos' name was going on. Ragnar's strong grip had captured her neck, her eyes snapping open to see his hand descending on her, and now… this. While she could move her eyes and look around, the body she inhabited was clearly doing whatever it wanted. This body was encased in heavy metal armor, but whoever was wearing it didn't let that stop them from making great time up this mountain slope. It looked like any typical mountain in Skyrim, covered in snow and at times impossibly steep. Her body was breathing heavily, but nowhere near what any normal persons would sound like at this point. Freyja was impressed to say the least, although this was followed by an immense feeling of awe as the path flattened out and she saw what lie before her. One of the ancient Nordic word walls was but a stones throw in front of her, on top of it was a majestic golden dragon, unaware that it's home had been invaded yet. This quickly changed. "YOL TOOR SHUL!" A wall of fire burst forth, searing the immediate area in the blink of an eye, and both burning the dragon as well as pushing it off the wall. Freyja knew immediately that this body was the Dragonborn's. Ragnar was somehow letting her live on of his memories? She had a thousand questions but that had to wait, because this fight was quickly getting excitement. An armored arm pulled a sword from his hip out of its sheath, giving her a second to appraise that the blade held in his, (their?) hand was none other than Dawnbreaker. The dragon had taken flight and began circling, getting a good look at its challenger, and a hail of ice fell upon her from the thing's maw. Freyja's arm lifted, a semicircle of fire emerging from her hand dissipating the oncoming ice. How did he do this? She hadn't the time to ask him yet, but Freyja had never heard stories that the Dragonborn had this type of mastery over magic before, every story teller she had talked to had mentioned his voice powers and martial prowess. The golden dragon landed now, near enough that its wing came in to swipe the Dragonborn off the side of the mountain. If only it was that easy. Her body ducked under the attack, Dawnbreaker swiping into the webbing of the creature's wing, lighting the entire wound alight as it did. The scream that came after deafened her, and the dragon stumbled backwards from her, only to find that it couldn't move. A metal arm was lifted, an orange glow coming from the gauntlet, that was somehow holding the creature in place? Ragnar had some explaining to do, this was beyond insane. For the first time in her life, Freyja saw what fear looked like in a dragon, as the Dragonborn walked forward its movement became frantic as it willed its body to move, but whatever the armored man was doing was unbreakable. That is, until a sudden explosion blew her off twenty feet into a tree. Her body grunted, and a hand lifted just in time to throw up a transparent wall of energy that absorbed a torrent of electricity. Coming from a coffin near the dragon wall, Freyja was surprised to see a dragon priest floating to the fight. "Lightning huh? You're about to find yourself very outmatched!" A shiver ran through her as the Dragonborn shouted at the ancient spirit, the ferocity was chilling, the bloodlust apparent just by listening to him. Freyja was witnessing a fight with the Dragonborn at his most powerful. She cast her eyes downwards briefly, as the body she inhabited widened its feet until they were square with the broad shoulders of the armor she wore, and she could hear the sharp intake of breath. What was the Dragonborn doing? Her answer came, as the Dragonborn's arm aimed the sword tip first at the priest, and a deafening crack of thunder was followed by a blinding explosion. A cone flowed out of the weapon far surpassing the size of a house as the range extended, in the center of it a lightning bolt as thick as a nord nearly disintegrated the priest where it had helplessly attempted to throw up a ward. The edge of the fire grazed the dragon, still powerful enough to melt everything but the bones of the poor things injured wing, causing yet another roar of pain to come from the creature. Her arm lowered, and Freyja let out a breath she hadn't known she was holding, her mind unable to think after witnessing what she could only call a force of nature. Whatever the dragon priest had emerged from had been nearly melted, the word wall was charred, the slope had been blown away in the shape of a half circle where the cone had passed. Legs walked them over to the dragon, where it pitifully rolled about trying to do anything it could to end the pain. In callous disregard of the weapons origins, Dawnbreaker was thrown down to the ground, and her armored hands wrapped themselves around the hilt of something strapped to their back. Freyja's eyes widened in recognition from the pages of countless books as the Dragonborn pulled Wuuthrad forward, and only got wider as her legs broke into a run and the axe came down in a chopping motion into the dragon's head. The sheer power from both the weapon and the nord wielding it split the creatures head wide open, entering its brain, and finally killing it. Pulling it back out the axe was returned to its place on her back, and with one hand outstretched the orange glow appeared again in her hand, with Dawnbreaker flying into the metal palm a moment later. It was this moment that everything got blurry, and it felt as if she was being sucked up until… Freyja's eyes flew open, observing her surroundings as she stood up quickly. While she was still up on a snow-covered mountain, this was clearly not the same one the Dragonborn had assaulted. Her head swiveled until Ragnar came into sight, kneeling looking out at the valley and the island laying in front of them. "By Talos… Ragnar that was amazing!" She couldn't contain herself a moment longer, the things she had just witnessed! Dawnbreaker and Wuuthrad in action with none other than the Dragonborn in his peak using them was nothing short of a blessing to see. "I've never seen such a powerful use of magic before, the way you just throw fire around, and that trick with the sword was amazing!" Freyja hurried to where he was, looking down and meeting his cold blue gaze as she approached. "That wasn't a trick, simply an old tool that few know how to manipulate any longer." Gods, the way he spoke of what he did as if anyone could do it if they knew, was it just not that noteworthy to him? "Ragnar, I doubt even those who do know it could do the same you did, or even on the scale I saw, that entire side of the mountain simply disappeared, one second it was there and the next it was gone." The nord merely lifted his shoulders a bit in response. Damn this unresponsive godly powerful nord in exile. She couldn't even imagine the Battle of Whiterun with someone like him on their side. "How do you use magic like that, where did you learn something like that? I saw the college of Winterhold in a fight and they didn't do anything like you did, nor as fluidly." Freyja was met with silence, and after it drew on for longer than comfortable she sat down with him, looking out at Solstheim. This seemed to be what he had been waiting for the whole time, or he had just finished collecting his thoughts. "I won't tell you where or who I learned from, but I can say that it wasn't nearly as hard to learn as what they teach at that college." As she looked over while he spoke, Freyja could tell that this was something that brought life back to him. Just as speaking of his days in Wayrest seemed to bring about a new person from Ragnar, so to did the fire magic. "What I do is still magic, requiring some innate ability to be used, but not nearly in the same way as normal magic. The power flows through our body much like our blood, relying on the major roadways in us to move." Slowly sitting up, she watched as he got up and showed her as he spoke. "With normal magic, I simply focus the fire in my hand, and release it where I want it to go." A small flicker of flame sprung to life in his hand, and a fireball as large as a head found its way into the side of the mountain. "But with the method I use, it becomes more versatile, say a dragon is facing me, it shouts a wall of flame upon me," Ragnar's hands clapped together, cocking behind his head, before moving them into a chop motion, a vertical pillar of fire cutting deep into the slope to the side of them. "All that you need to do is focus that same fire inside yourself, and allow your body to use it exactly how you need to, instead of relying on an imperfect system." He walked back to where she sat and lowered himself down. She had never really been an expert in magic, only knowing what mages had told her in the few exchanges they'd had. "Why are you telling me this? I've never even tried to use magic before." How was this lesson supposed to help if she couldn't even use magic! Ragnar just shook his head slightly, creating a flame in his palm. "Every creature that is born has the innate ability and potential, no matter how small that potential may be. Even if you can't sustain what I teach you for more than one or two attacks in a fight, that's all you'll need." Freyja's mind was having trouble wrapping around his words, why did every conversation and meeting with him be so overwhelming! "An enemy is at their weakest when they think they have you figured out. They've prepared for what they envision to be your strategy, so when you can suddenly send a wave of fire at them in the same motion as swinging your sword? The Thalmor aren't prepared to fight against this, which is why I'm teaching you." With that being said, the nord stood up, and began walking back to his cave.

Ragnar

The walk back and rest of the day was spent in silence. Mostly because he had left the companion in the cave and walked down to a waterfall. It was at least an hour's journey from his cave, and he doubted she would come this far just to see what he was doing. Ragnar missed the quiet, every time he had to speak, or she asked a question, he couldn't stop the flood that was his past. It would drive him crazy if he let it. This waterfall, and the slope he had visited this morning were his most frequented meditative spots. One was completely silent, the other deafening, the contrast expanded his ability to ignore all his surroundings and shut himself off to the outside world. That was all he had wanted to do since Whiterun. Now, the world had come to find him. What happened when he was done teaching her to kill elves, if she was captured, or said something she shouldn't? Suddenly his refuge away from the world could draw visitors, and depending who found out, a warzone. The world thought him dead, and he didn't intend to give it reason to think otherwise. "I must admit, I never thought I'd see you as a teacher." It was typical, that while seeking refuge from disturbance that once again he would be visited by his spirits again. "The war loving nord suddenly a patient mentor teaching ancient mystery magic? Sounds kind of like a bad joke if you think about it." The Nord's eyes looked back at the daedra slaying hero of Tamriel, the Imperial had struck a thoughtful pose. "But anyways, I know that this is going to be a one-sided argument, I mostly came here to warn you that she followed your tracks here," the imperial's words were followed by a sinister smile and the crack of a frozen branch as Ragnar caught a glimpse of brown hair through the trees. Wonderful. The petite nord found her way to the rock outcropping over the waterfall, eyes finding his as she took a few more steps over. "Killer view, by which I mean who did you kill for it?" The edge of her lip tugged up slightly, her humor seemingly surviving through the tragedies she had suffered. He offered no answer, letting the sound of the waterfall reign supreme for now. The sound of feet came from behind him, until Freyja sat down, legs hanging over the edge, her vision focused on the half-frozen lake below them. "You know, upper half of this island reminds me of home, just… lonelier." Ragnar suspected that he had made the same conclusion subconsciously when he had decided to remain dead. He would never return to his homeland, so why not exile himself somewhere that mimicked his own land. With the exception of the southern half of the island being coated in ash, this island was just another small sliver of Skyrim. "I'd probably enjoy it a lot more without the murderous werebear packs, and random dragon attacks." Ragnar let out a grunt at that, he had additionally chosen Solstheim because of how dangerous it could be to outsiders, but he had to admit, this gods damned island could be ridiculous at times. For a time, Freyja was silent, and they sat there lost in their own heads for what seemed hours. A gentle snow fall had begun, and almost out of habit Ragnar raised his inner temperature, the heat traveling up and down each of his limbs, his spine, the very same paths he used when using this magic to fight. "You understand how unfair that is, right?" Freyja indignantly snorted at him, and it took him a second to figure out what she was talking about. In only another second, Ragnar had thrust a hand forward and constructed a sort of overhand made of frozen snow over top of their heads, shielding them from the snow. Freyja it seemed was left speechless for the moment, which was just find for him. "You know… its weird being around someone who can do things like this and acts as if its normal." In the back of his mind, he noted that if he were to meet a younger version of himself, they'd say the same thing. As he rose into his position of Dragonborn, he had learned more and more, to the point that such displays of power didn't seem nearly as impressive as they used to. "How come nothing I've read says that you're a magic user?" Freyja had moved herself to within arms-reach, the curiosity evident in her voice. Killing her seemed a better alternative than these questions in this moment. "What do you know of the college of Winterhold?" Ragnar asked her, leaving the woman looking baffled by his question.

"I mean… they're a group of mages isolated in an old castle up north." Just what he thought, she knew only the most basic knowledge of them. "Yes, they live in the north isolated from the rest of Skyrim, mostly because of their distrust of magic. Why then, would these magic fearing people want to spread the news that their greatest hero himself used it?" Skyrim hated magic users, while it most recently stemmed from the war with the Dominion, the land had never treated them very well. "Still, I've never read or heard anyone speak of your magic abilities at all!" Freyja didn't seem as opposed as some people in Skyrim to magic users, although that could just be her desperation to find an edge against the Thalmor. "Nords hate magic users, few would be keen to admit that their Dragonborn was one, and the college of Winterhold probably withheld such information because they didn't understand how I used it, its hard to speak on a subject you know little to nothing about, so they didn't speak of it." Ragnar had never told the college how he tapped into his powers, the less people that knew the better. Himself and Freyja was enough for now. "And you let people believe you couldn't use?" He shook his head lightly. "Yes. It caught enemies off guard. Besides, practicing an unknown magic form attracts attention, which I didn't wish for, I was lucky enough to learn it myself, the fact that you've found your way to me means that it won't die off with me. While Tamriel doesn't deserve to learn it in this day and age, there will be a time when it will." Surprisingly, Freyja simply nodded her head, accepting his answer, and sat with him quietly. By now, the sun had set, and darkness embraced Nirn, leaving the pair alone in the night. The few animals that visited the lake below had long ago found somewhere to rest for the night, away from any predator looking for an easy meal. Ragnar was more than sure more than one creature had considered attempting to attack the two of them, and had he not taught them to stay away years ago then he could guarantee the calm night would soon be claimed by the sounds of battle. As it was, nothing disturbed them, the snow had stopped coming after adding to the already deep layer that covered the earth, and had Ragnar not made the impromptu tent then Freyja would most likely have been buried with a thin layer of snow. His thoughts were ground to a halt, as Freyja spoke again. "Ragnar, do you regret what you did, by staying here?" Although it was dark, he could see at the edge of his vision that she had tucked her legs against her chest, chin propped up on her knees, her words followed by a heavy stare. "No." His short, quick answer required no second thoughts. What else would he have done after killing the Thalmor, there was nothing left for him in Skyrim. "I've seen what you can do in a fight Ragnar, with you fighting with us- "

"Stop." His head had turned towards her, and he was done listening to her what ifs. "Skyrim didn't need me, you said it yourself, Skyrim stopped the Dominion at Whiterun, I was never needed, all they needed was each other." It was their own fault the Dominion had won; a divided Skyrim was a conquerable Skyrim. "We didn't need you to fight, it was what you represented!" Freyja was getting angry again, he could tell. She was passionate and didn't like being wrong. "There were plenty of others to be figureheads, besides I've sacrificed enough for that thankless land, I won't shed another drop of blood for anyone but myself!" He had enough of this. Ragnar forced himself up, throwing aside the temporary shelter that lie in his path. He marched back towards his cave, sure that the persistent companion followed. Familiar faces swam before his eyes, voices rang out in his head, old feelings played out across his hands. Ragnar only made it thirty feet away before he got to one knee, the flood washing over him. It was all too much, emotions he had repressed for years attempting to come out. The air around him grew hot, his control slipping and his powers becoming a conduit to his emotions. Ragnar remained this way for several minutes, deep breaths persisting against invading thoughts, slowly gaining back control from himself. It was easy living this way when he was alone, the spirits never bothered him like this, or left before it got this bad. Stumbling up to his feet, he briefly took in the circle of melted snow around him, before continuing his journey home haphazardly. Firmly in control of his own body and thoughts again, he could hear Freyja a way behind him, her footsteps light in the snow. She said nothing on the way back, nor when they arrived did she say anything to him when they settled on their respective sides of the cave. It was only when they had been lying on the ground for several minutes that she spoke. "Ragnar… not all burdens are meant to be carried alone. Remember that." With that being said, he heard her turn over, and after a while her breathing settled into the rhythm of sleep.

Freyja

The next few days passed uneventfully. With no random attacks that would reveal yet more epic powers Ragnar had hidden, the time was spent hunting, hiking to random locations, and sitting around in silence. After his breakdown near the waterfall, Freyja had decided that giving the nord a few days to recuperate would be for the best, and so she followed him around on his daily schedule. He didn't have a busy schedule. Over half of the day was spent walking to totally random places, no explanation on why those spots needed to be checked, and more than likely he would spend hours sitting there once they'd hiked to it. The man didn't even meditate, he just sat down and stared off at nothing, and after a period of time that had no minimum or limit, he'd go find somewhere else to walk off to or go back to the cave. Usually Ragnar would eat a large breakfast, then a large dinner once they were back at the cave, lunch being entirely unnecessary apparently. While most of his food was meat from whatever the man had taken a fancy to killing lately, (he fancied killing everything that moved) he also had a small stock of food that made no sense that he would have. Where in Talos name did an exiled hero of legend find sweetrolls? That question was answered after about a week, several hours into one of his daily hikes up yet another mountain. Man loved mountains. At some point, Freyja heard movement, and quickly pulled out her bow, half nocking an arrow and scanning a nearby snowbank, large enough to provide concealment from where she was. Her senses proved her right as a small blue head popped up, examining her shortly before opening its mouth, probably communicating to something. She'd heard of these nasty little goblins, Rieklings? Whatever they were called, they were notorious for killing people for their possessions. Gods damn her if Freyja let these little bastards send her to Sovngarde. Pulling back on the arrow fully, she aimed at where the thing's brows met, and released. Not even halfway to the creature though, the arrow suddenly stopped midair, before dropping straight to the ground. Turning to Ragnar, she saw him approaching her. "Don't kill the things, they're harmless." Even as he spoke, the Rieklings had noticed Ragnar's presence, as well as his actions to save them. The little goblins ran off, but not before throwing a sack towards the pair, which Ragnar summoned to them with the same orange spell. Opening it up slightly, Freyja recognized gold, armor, cups, and more importantly, food. Dumping out everything but the food, Ragnar nearly continued on his way before turning to her slightly. "Take whatever you want from the rest, I leave all but the food, you don't have to do the same though." Raising an eyebrow at the actions which seemed out of character of this brutally cold nord, Freyja bent down to pick through some of the things. "So, this has happened before then?" Obviously intending to continue his walk, Ragnar stopped again and looked back at where she was kneeling. "Since I got here, they think I'm some sort of… god?" Freyja couldn't stop the smile that came upon her face. "They're not far from the truth from what I've seen" She shrugged her shoulders to emphasize her point, picking out a nice golden armband from the pile, leaving the rest scattered where Ragnar had left it. Noticing her prize, the nord turned himself back up the mountain, and thus the walk continued upwards. Clipping her new golden accessory onto her arm and guaranteeing the unexpected gift wouldn't fall off, she hurried herself up the mountain to catch up to Ragnar, who had finally found its crest, and was situating himself down. This mountain was placed in a way that it worked as sort of an outpost, every direction around them gave the pair a wide view of the surrounding area. Freyja sat herself down near Ragnar, wondering how long he would want to spend on here before moving on, hoping it would only be an hour or two. In the meantime, her eyes scanned several small mountain passes to the west, she even spotted a small Riekling village, probably where the few little goblins they'd run into had probably come from. "Have you tried the techniques I showed you?" This was to say the least, a surprise. Ragnar almost never started the conversations, and even when he did it was only because absolutely necessary. She wouldn't question her good luck today though. "Sort of, I mean I've never put any thought into using magic before, let alone some unheard-of technique only used by, well, you." She was being honest, but while she had briefly tried, that may have been the problem, it was a very brief attempt. A few minutes spent trying to recreate an unfamiliar stance and channel an energy she didn't know how to find was infuriating and she'd quickly dropped the practice. "I wouldn't have shown you unless I thought it pertinent, the memory I showed you? The power used was only amplified by the fire of Dawnbreaker, all that was meant to shoot from that blade was the lightning, the blade itself used the fire within it to assist, create an even deadlier attack than before." The nords voice never sounded as dead when he spoke of things like this, which she appreciated because talking to what sounded like the most monotone dying man ever wasn't the most fun. "So, you hope that if I learn this magic, that one attack may be all it'll take with Dawnbreaker in my hands?" Freyja doubted that even with decades of practice she could even come close to what she had seen in that memory, but even just a fraction of that could still prove lethal. "Yes. For now, I'll focus on helping you utilize Dawnbreaker and a few other artifacts that would give you an advantage over the Thalmor."

"Well as helpful as that sounds, Dawnbreaker is still unaccounted, only a few items have been sent to the college for safekeeping" Ragnar remained silent at her words, staring out at the mountains. "Don't worry about that. There's a reason I chose Dawnbreaker." That was incredibly… vague? Vague and odd. The man wasn't telling her something, but at this point she knew it was probably useless to ask about it. "Well in that case, can you help me with the basics then?" No good would come of trying to practice something she didn't even know the basics of.

"First, breath." The nord sucked in air through his nostrils, chest rising as it slowly filled, before his lips parted just enough to allow air to escape from his body. "Air is needed for this to work, it focuses your energy, calms nerves, you can't use this magic without having control of your body." To demonstrate his point, another deep breath entered the tall nords body, this time he let it exit his nostrils, as the last wisps of air came out he released two small streams of fire from his nose. Leave it to a semi crazy fallen Dragonborn to awe her by simply shooting fire from his nose. She could never tell anyone about her time her, if only because it sounded like a bad skooma trip. Shaking her head slightly at his antics, Freyja closed her eyes, and began taking deep breaths, letting the cycle of inhaling and exhaling take her over. "Good, now focus deep in yourself, feel the air travel throughout your body, reinvigorating it, giving it the life to continue, feed on that energy." She struggled to understand what feeling she was searching for, but nonetheless continued. If she really dialed in to her body, she could sense the process he explained, the parts of her body that required oxygenated blood getting a fresh supply, the old being pumped to her heart to receive the air she so desperately relied on. "You're full of passion Freyja. Use it, whatever drives you, gives you strength, channel it." Scenes from her past flashed through her head. A desperate fight against an enemy that outnumbered them, her fellow countrymen fleeing even as their king charged hopelessly into the enemy. Friends struck down around her. Senseless killings to prove a point, that a new regime ruled Whiterun. "Now thrust your hand out." While Ragnar's tone hadn't risen from it's usual one, she almost believed she heard something faintly passionate beyond those words. Taking in one last breath, Freyja threw her arm forward like she was punching at an opponent, a smug high elf looking down at her was the image she couldn't purge from her mind. Something in her gut jerked, and she very nearly winced in fear that a fire would engulf her from the inside out. Luckily, that didn't happen, in fact nothing happened. Her fist was chin height in front of her, arm fully extended, but nothing had come out of it. Freyja's eyes squinted in annoyance at her arm and fist as if they were to blame, thinking back on what she could have done wrong. "Impressive, I felt the air around us heat up briefly, I hadn't been able to do such a thing until a while after I'd learned how to manipulate this magic." Glancing at him, Freyja saw that his arms were crossed, his usually stoic face now looking in deep thought. "You did everything right, all that's left is practicing the basics until you begin to actually spew flames." Really? She couldn't believe this; how could she have warmed the entire area around her body but not even conjured one measly flame! Sucking in more air she pushed the image of a high elf into her mind and threw another punch. Still nothing. "Gods above why can't I do this!" Ragnar was just as stony faced, watching as she punched the air time after time waiting for the moment flames would come out from her fists. "You can't force this Freyja. I spent hours practicing the same simple moves before I made flames. Anger isn't the recommended tool to make this magic work. You can use passion, but a force like anger can make it unpredictable, hard to control." Freyja's mind flashed back to his memory, the dragon priest striking him from behind fresh in her mind. His voice had been heavy with the thirst for blood, while not quite angry it certainly wasn't calm. A happy medium then? Resetting herself, Freyja squared her feet, spending a few minutes simply breathing. Her mind cleared gradually, and she felt her body working just as it should, and now she thought of Whiterun as it was today. Downtrodden, all hope abandoned or dead, the people simply living day to day no thoughts of the future. A young woman in an alleyway with nothing to her name but the clothes on her back, all alone in this new world where there was nothing but death and suffering. Deep down she felt the anger, but sorrow was much more plentiful right now. Her arm struck out in front of her, a small jet of flame flying out from her fist. "YES! Did you see that?! That was incredible!" Freyja leapt up and down, she'd finally done it. While it had taken longer than she thought, it was amazing that she had managed it at all when she had no prior instruction at any type of magic. "Now that was much more impressive, it seems that while you may be stubborn, you also know when to change tactics." The exile was nodding his head, a hand scratching in his beard. "Now that you've shown that you can do it, I expect you to practice it, then when you get Dawnbreaker you'll be ready to use it already." With that being said, Ragnar seemed to take that as his cue to start back on his way to the cave. She briefly considered staying up here to practice, but the fact that she wasn't sure how to get back to the cave and the nearby village of Rieklings gave her enough reason to follow behind the seemingly tireless nord.

Ragnar

The scent of blood was thick in the air. It wasn't often that his father sent their company this far from Skyrim, but these days High Rock was a mess and there was always some lord in need of swords. This lord just happened to need their help against vampires. The largely Nordic company had numbered three hundred fifty strong when the day had begun. Barely eighty of them were still standing. A small town had been overrun by the undead, and it was a simple matter to burn the houses, wait for whatever was inside to come out, and kill it while the sun was high and weakened the creatures. Then night came. All the hiding undead had come upon them in minutes, and the center of the town had become a bloodbath. The vampires were outnumbered by at least two or three to one, but increased speed and strength made up for it, even if their enemy were hardened battle ready nords. It'd have been a much different story in different terrain, the nords would have simply set up a shield wall and killed the undead from afar with arrows, or spear, sword, or axe when they approached. House to house combat made things difficult. Clumps of fighting raged across the mess of houses, and the moon gave light to it all. His axe was long gone, lodged into the chest of one of the bloodsuckers before he'd had to abandon it when another had started swiping at him. Sword raised and ready, he looked behind him quickly, an alley clogged with dead nords and vampire alike filling the space. Luck would have to smile upon him heavily if his father's force were to survive the night. The town square lay before him, and pairs and small groups of both sides fought on, tired but unyielding. Most mercenary groups would have long ago fled for their lives, but nords were a different breed, honor came before one's life. Charging forward with a war cry on his lips, his sword swung sideways into a torso, leaving the distracted vampire vulnerable, one of the nords who had been engaging its front swiped at the opposite side, cleaving the thing in half through its torso. The top half fell, and the two looked for the nearest enemy to fight next. While the nords had sustained hundreds of casualties, the vampires were dropping faster than the enraged nords. This was the last thought he had before a powerful kick sent him flying face first into a box, crushing the wood with his heavy plate armor. Groaning as he flipped over, so his back was on the ground, he grit his teeth as something caught on the earth, causing a flare of pain to lance up his body. The box had splintered a large chunk of itself into a soft spot of his armor, stabbing into the spot right above his hip to the side. Gods damn him. Another kick flung him into the side of a stone building, his back spasming in pain at the contact, and he drew in a choked breath before looking towards where the box had been. An undead Breton stood in the ruins of the mentioned box, making its way toward him. The nord he had assisted with earlier came into view, swinging his weapon at the creature only to have it duck, claws raking their way through his stomach as the vampire turned in the same movement. It took just a moment for his intestines to fall to the earth, and the undead continued towards where it had kicked its initial prey. Seemed to be do or die time. With great effort he pushed himself up to a kneeling position, the chunk of wood the cause of a small pool of blood that had collected on the ground. The vampire was only seconds away, probably expecting him to be near dead anyways. That's when he leapt forward, grabbing the vampire and lifting it up, only to throw the monster down with as much force as he could. A pained grunt escaped the vampire, and it had almost no time to react as a metal fist struck its face once and then twice, and a knife slammed down into its chest. He'd missed the bastard's heart though, and a wild slash of its claws nearly cut threw his armor, the noise of sharpened nail on metal awful to his ear. Kicking into the vampire's side, and forcing it to expose its back, he looped his arm around the things neck. While the hold wouldn't affect the undead the same as a person, he wouldn't win an engagement in front of this thing as weakened as he was from what he suspected were several broken ribs and the hunk of wood sticking out of his hip. He'd been careful to keep his hip to the side, so the vampire pressed against his front wouldn't disturb it or push it deeper in. Flailing powerful limbs attempted to squirm out of his grip, elbows pounding into his ribs. While the pain was present, the armor took the brunt of the attack, leaving him to pull out the knife with one arm and stab down into its chest again. Now the thing was panicking. Realizing the danger it was in, the vampire thrust its hand in the way, the blade slicing off three fingers and coming down into the chest, pushed off course enough to make prevent it from being lethal. It's other intact hand grabbed at his head, tearing off the helmet. Now it was his turn for drastic action, those claws would slice him open with no problem. His blade came down again, only going in an inch when the hand with all five fingers took hold of his wrist, its grip painful. The other came up for his face, its pointer finger cutting up from his jaw towards his eye. Jerking away, he let go of the things neck, and with one more powerful effort pushed the knife down further. Nearing the heart even more he still wasn't going to get any deeper, the vampire had its elbow pressed against his armor, giving it the leverage to hold the blade off its heart. Time for a change of plans. His legs pushed to the side, both their bodies tipping, the ground pushing the blade all the way through to the hilt into the undead creature's chest. It stiffened at first, before relaxing, and he allowed himself to roll onto his back. Blood ran down his face, where the vampire had slashed it open. At some point it had begun raining, clouds covered the moon high above and drenching his face. There sounded to be less fighting going on, either because one side had been all but defeated or because there were so few left, he didn't know. All he knew is that everything had changed tonight.

Freyja

The man was in the midst of another dream. There hadn't been a night she didn't see him in the clutches of one, but this was by far the worst she'd seen since that first time she had been in the cave. Freyja's sleep had been interrupted by a loud extended grunt, she figured that it was a war cry in the dream. After that he'd continued moving his limbs around on the cave floor, at one point rolling over to the other side, from there he'd calmed down. After a few seconds of no movement or noise, she stood up and began walking back to her sleeping roll. The noise of her feet on the cave floor must have been heard, because before she knew she heard rapid movement behind her. Snapping her head about, she saw that he was on a knee, fist raised, but eyes quickly taking in the cave, and his arm moved back down to his side. It didn't take long for her to summarize that her head had just nearly been turned to ash. "What was this one about?" Freyja didn't want to dwell long on her near death, best to push forward while he was still fresh from his dream. "Old battle, one of the worse ones." Ragnar had sat with his back to the cave wall, a hand lifted up feeling along the scar on his face, going up his jaw and up to his brow. Freyja turned fully, walking over and sitting against the cave wall with him, her small hand reaching towards his face. As usual, he didn't give verbal consent, only looking at her hand approaching, and then meeting her gaze. That was the best she would get, so she continued. The vertical scar left a small line on his face where no hair grew, the skin raised above the rest where it'd had to heal the old wound. Starting just a few inches from the bottom of his ear on his jaw, the scar made a line upwards, coming near his eye, ending at his brow. She couldn't imagine what could have given this to him. "When did it happen?" If he wouldn't outright tell her, then she'd draw the answers out of him. She wanted to know everything she could about his past, his stories, his experiences. "Years after the encounter I told you about with the orcs. Still in Wayrest." He must've still been so young, she couldn't believe what he had lived through, even before his destiny had come upon him. "Wayrest certainly left its marks upon you, huh?" It was a poor attempt at humor on her part, but the effort was there. "Not as much as Skyrim did, but it tried." His defensive wall of stone cold expressions and monotone speech wasn't up yet, fresh out of a very real dream, she heard the bitterness in his tone. She would be too, she supposed, had her body been so marked as he. "Where would you be though, without each and every one, they're a collection marking who you are, they've made you the man you are." Ragnar seemed to consider her words, she was no priest with honeyed words to assist people with things like this, but she would do her best. "Who knows. I can't imagine waking up one day and all these scars simply… gone." Freyja had few scars herself, but awaking with them all gone would spook her greatly. While she hated a few, they were hers, and for that reason she wouldn't live without them given the choice. "So, can you tell me how you got this one?" Her hand hadn't come off his face yet, moving up and down the scar, the beard tickling her fingers. "Not much to tell, this was back when I was still a mercenary, my first encounter with vampires as well. Got this while holding one in a choke so I could stab it." One of his hands was rubbing at a spot above his hip now, did he not notice that he rubbed at the scars pertaining to the stories he told? "You're telling me you wrestled a vampire, as in the super strengthened creatures of the night?" Who in their right mind would do something so gods damned STUPID! "Yes. Thing kicked me around a bit, got a nice chunk of wood in my gut for the trouble before I got it into a headlock. After that, it was just a matter of time before my knife found the thing in its black lifeless heart." Nonchalantly telling the story of a wrestling match with a vampire, she wouldn't believe half the things she'd heard if it wasn't the Dragonborn. "What kind of contract brought you into contact with vampires?" In all her time as a companion, she hadn't once encountered the creatures, only heard stories of the bloodsuckers. "Some town was occupied with them, caused the area a lot of trouble. Our company was known for how effective we were." His eyes focused down at the cave floor, and while it was hard to tell with the beard in the way, she thought he might have had a small frown. "It was our last contract. Our company was three hundred and fifty men strong, by the time the fighting was all done, and the sun was rising, forty-three of us were left alive. We collected our pay, and most of us split ways." That was well over three hundred dead in just one night, that was horrendous. The worst part is that with how he spoke of the event, it didn't even seem that bad to him, just another story from his past, instead of the traumatic night most people would be haunted by for their whole life. "That's… horrible. I'm sorry." Her hand cupped the side of his face with the scar, her fingers resting against his beard, her thumb rubbing the scar. Ragnar hadn't commented on her continued contact, so she'd leave it there for now. "I lost nearly all my friends in one night, it was hard for a while but that's just how life is." Did he really think that's how life was, so unforgiving, so brutal? His eyes certainly made her believe so, cold and accepting of the blood shed that plagued him. "It shouldn't though, and I'm sorry it has been. I think I see why you stayed here, where the only thing left to worry about it yourself, up here you don't have anyone left to lose." As she had begun speaking, his eyes had locked onto hers, she nearly looked away from the intensity of his stare, but she hadn't come this far just to cower away now. "All your life, you've watched people you care for killed again and again, each new beginning lasting a little longer before ultimately failing. So, when the Thalmor took away your family, the companions, the hall, that was it. There was no one left, the world thought you were dead, and you let them believe it, because what good could come of going back? Watching more people you grew to love die, so you stayed here, every reason to go back was dead, just like you." With every word she could see he was trying to hide behind a stony façade, but she knew she had struck home with her words. It made sense, her anger had blinded her from seeing this upon their first meeting, but it was obvious now with what she knew. "I…" it had taken a few minutes for him to speak, and the word came up choked, before he tried again. "I cant fail again. If I'd gone back, I would have failed Skyrim, better to die, than live on failing again and again until all faith in the Dragonborn was lost. The legend lives on, only as long as people believe in it, that's more powerful than any one single man on a battlefield could ever be. After what happened, I wasn't in any condition to go back anyways, so I stayed. Waiting for the day I could pass out of this world." There was no attempt to hide the sadness in his eyes now, he had been so strong for so long so the world could continue breathing easy, knowing the Dragonborn fought for them. How long could a person live like that? How long had Ragnar lived like that? Having to pretend he was some sort of godly protector of Skyrim, slowly cracking under the pressure. "I shouldn't have blamed you for what happened to Skyrim, no one is to blame but Skyrim herself, you did so much, only for her own people to betray her." Freyja tentatively scratched her fingers through his beard, against the skin underneath. It was all she could think to do to comfort him right now, besides the words they spoke. It only took a few seconds for his breathing to normalize, subconsciously his face tilted to allow her an easier time at scratching. "Hearing what's become of my homeland… I wish I could help." It broke Freyja's heart to hear how truly sorrowful he was, she knew of few people with as much love for Skyrim as he did. "Ragnar, I know why you came here." She had to be careful now, or he would refuse. "But maybe you can continue teaching me, while also helping me get some of the weapons you recommend I use." His face pulled away, her hand left out in the air where his cheek had been. "You mean come out of exile." Ragnar wasn't asking a question, this wasn't a statement. "Not as anyone but my teacher, a travel companion, not as… just come with me as Ragnar." Freyja had suspected his original name wasn't Ragnar, but the one he'd adopted when he had begun his days as a vagabond up here in Solstheim. "I won't ask you to come into cities, or take part in any fighting, only help me find the weapons I need and train me to use them, please, I need your help." She moved herself to directly in front of him, on her knees and forcing him to move his line of sight from the cave wall to her own eyes. The cold blue orbs looked indecisive, surely years of forced exile had cultivated some sense or need of an adventure! "I- I'll tell you my answer tomorrow." That was all he said, throwing himself up, and walking out of the cave, leaving her alone on the floor, eyes looking out at where he had left.

It was hours later, when Freyja heard movement at the mouth of the cave. Quickly she rolled over, eyes landing on the person who had entered the cave. She almost didn't recognize him. Standing in the entrance and exit of his home for the past few years, was Ragnar. His beard had been shaved away, revealing a strong defined jaw, his facial scar more prominent without the beard. His hair was pushed back, the long flowing hair reaching nearly to his shoulders, looking to have been combed and cut a little shorter. A thin pair of new clean pants and shirt covered him, looking slightly out of place in this cold tundra but comfortable on a man who could create fire as easy as others would breath. "Are we to start on our journey, or do you want to keep staring?" She very nearly chose the second option.


	3. Chapter 3

Kalara

As per usual, she awoke to the horrid scent of a land she hated with all that she was. Sitting up, Kalara threw the sheets off of her, quickly dressing into her glass armor and heading downstairs in search of whatever heathen had made their way into her palace. Palace wasn't the right word. Large wooden structure made by barbaric simpletons. That didn't roll off the tongue though did it? At this point she didn't care anymore, circumstances had landed her as the overseer of Whiterun, and she would carry out the duties that came with such a post. Such as dealing with the disgusting excuse for a race that were the nords. Slamming her door open, the four guards posted outside her room were perfectly still, standing guard just as they should. Making her way down towards her throne, two of the guards immediately fell in step behind her. Kalara had no need of guards, but it made for a far more intimidating presence, as well as marking her as someone important enough for guards. When the invasion into Skyrim had begun, it had been Kalara that had secured the Rift for the Dominion, and while she hadn't participated in the first battle of Whiterun, she had eagerly fought in the second. She still smiled when she thought of that day, nords had died by the thousands in those fields. Servants, guards, and other staff in the large hall bowed and groveled at her passing, staying far out of her path as she finally found her way to the large metal throne she had forced the nords to build for her, before their execution. The throne was as perfect as she could expect a human to build anything, but smiths were few and far between, best to make sure the mongrels in the city didn't get any ideas about building weapons to fight their masters. Best to muzzle the dog before it could think of biting, rather than waiting until after you'd been bitten. This philosophy had been what promoted her to the most important post in Whiterun. Gazing across her hall lazily, she sat down slowly, crossing one leg over the other and placing a hand up to rest her chin on. Kalara found that this position intimidated any seeking an audience with her the most. Something about her casual appearance and infamous reputation made others hair stand on end. It was in such a position, that the nord invading her hall cast his eyes upon her, before quickly looking away. "My Grand Lady of Whiterun, the captain of the guard has requested an audience with you, shall I bring him forward?" her primary assistant had come forward upon seeing Kalara seat herself in the throne, bowing, and then kneeling before the throne. Sniveling little creature, the wood elf did serve its purpose. All the race was good for really, expendable bodies in battle and servitude. "Bring him forward, make it quick." Her curt response was all that was needed, and the elf quickly bowed again before running back to grab the heathen. A brief sharing of words went between her servant and the captain, before he approached, kneeling once he was within normal speaking distance. "My Lady, my apologies for disturbing you so early in the morning." Kalara remembered the last captain, she'd had him executed last week because one of his patrols had been suspected of letting one of their countrymen go after speaking publicly against the Aldmeri Dominion. Kalara expected absolute control over Whiterun, and if an appointed captain couldn't control the simpleminded creatures under his command, then a change of office was needed. "What is it you need heathen, I find myself lacking patience for your race today." The captain visibly paled. Good, he would work to last longer than the previous captain, at the very least. "Again, I apologize my Lady, but there was… an encounter between one of my patrols and a Thalmor detachment yesterday." While Kalara allowed for a small city guard composed of the natives, a large garrison force of Thalmor and high elf regulars were stationed in the city, both to strike out at Eastmarch outposts, and keep their firm grip on this backwards country. "And what of it?" Her elves had grown restless as the months went by. In the early days of the occupation, battles and skirmishes had been plentiful, as dumb as these nords might be they were resilient, like rats. So, as the war came to an end, the elves had started taking their aggression out on whatever nords they could find, and as such Whiterun natives learned to stay as far from the elves as they could. "Out of the five men, three were killed, the other two told me that they had been… tortured with magic." The captain was pale as the snow outside now, obviously expecting repercussions for speaking of the event. Kalara briefly considered executing him. While she was itching to watch another nord die, it would be troublesome to find another captain out of the terrified populace. "And? Did you come here to report the event or is there something more you have to say?" Perhaps when this audience was over she could visit the dungeons, that always excited her, seeing all those nords scream out for mercy. "Well, my Lady, getting the guard up to full strength has been more difficult than we thought. People a-are reluctant to join in fear of situations like that." Huh. While the nord looked to be one sour look from shaking in his boots, he at least had the drive to come inform her of something like this. The last captain just scraped and bowed on the ground in front of her until dismissed, or more lately executed. "I see. Leave." It was the best dismissal she would give the man, letting him leave this hall alive was a blessing in of itself. In fact, she was amazed that she hadn't just killed everyone in this city already. She'd asked for permission several times, reluctantly quitting after the seventh refusal. The captain was basically running out of the hall, and with a flick of her hand the wood elf assistant sprinted towards the kitchen to fetch Kalara food. Ruling a city would be an honor, except for the fact that she wasn't in the Summerset Isles. Well, until the day this occupation finally turned into a genocide, she would do as she always had, and endure for the sake of elven supremacy.

Ulren

Most others would have frozen to death, lying in the snow as long as he had. Others didn't have the advantage of beast blood like he did though. A snort escaped his nostrils, sharpened eye sight staring at the guard outside the cave he was about to raid. While it would have been more fun to give those inside time to prepare for a fight, Ulren's stomach demanded food and a fight meant a longer time before he would feed. It wouldn't be much longer thankfully; the guard was already falling asleep. Whether it be a lack of discipline, the many warm layers wrapped around his body, or the fact that this group had been marching for weeks, the nord had only lasted half an hour on guard before slumping over, fast asleep. Perfect. Rising up from his position and casting off the fur and pants covering his body, Ulren let the beast blood take him. Bones began shifting, his body growing rapidly, face extending, fur covering the entirety of this form. In just a few moments it was done, and a quick look left and right revealed the three other members of his pack already transformed and ready. Time to feed. Long powerful limbs propelled him forward as quietly as he could manage, and before the nord could wake up Ulren had already plunged his claws into the man's chest, and clamped his jaws down on the throat. Death was near instantaneous. The animal in him didn't care if the victim felt pain, but Ulren didn't want his countrymen to suffer needlessly, this wasn't anything personal, just work and an empty stomach had caused this. Ulren only took a few bites out of the nord, then lifted his blood-stained snout up and continuing into the cave. Two of the other wolves took several bites, before falling in behind him, eager for the bloodshed that was to come. This group was only around ten strong, a scouting force which Thalmor forces had spotted. Rather than send out justiciars to deal with the problem, Ulren had been tasked with tracking them down, killing all of them and seeing what he could find on the bodies. While the elves had a painfully obvious disdain for all nords, even those who worked with their oppressors, they knew Ulren was a reliable and deadly tool. He had proven himself time and time again through the years, knowledge of the country and of his people invaluable to the Dominion interests in the country. Activity further into the cave drew him from his thoughts, and a growl threatened to release. Ulren could hear two nords ahead, speaking in low voices, which meant the others were sleeping at least. He didn't wait to listen to whatever the pair were talking about; his beast blood was making it impossible to be motionless. Bursting into the room, Ulren quickly pounced onto one of the nords who was awake, armor making no difference as a large claw tore through his torso, one of his hind legs kicking back at the other, denting in the man's chest armor and probably collapsing his chest. Oh yes, this felt good, this felt great! The other three wolves were close behind, tearing apart the waking nords, only one had enough time to try and put up a fight, his dead body proof of how futile the effort had been. With the whole group dead, Ulren felt disappointed, this had been almost no fun, while they were fed, he would have to pick a good fight soon or the beast blood would remain unsated. The only noise breaking the silence was that of the wolves feasting, after a few minutes they began to finish, and shrank as they shifted back to their human forms. Their wolf forms had many uses, but they wouldn't be able to search the cave while transformed, their wolf spirit would force them to go find a challenge. It didn't take long thankfully, as one of his wolves walked over with papers in hand. "Looks like this was a recon patrol, they've got rough numbers on some Dominion occupied forts in Whiterun." Looks like Eastmarch was getting impatient, patrols were leaving the holds borders constantly and Thalmor troops in the area were going missing more than ever before. Ulren didn't care either way, longer this conflict went on the longer he had a stable paying job. His pack looked at him oddly as Ulren threw the papers into the fire in the center of the cave. The elves would probably go on the offensive again if they knew that Eastmarch was getting more aggressive, getting numbers on them and all that. Ulren would report that the patrol had been eliminated, but that they hadn't found anything on them. He'd let this little war draw on some more, more he got paid more often he could go get drunk.

Harald

"You really think we have the numbers necessary to launch an assault on Riften and maintain security on our borders?" the table the nords were surrounding was covered in food, drink, and weaponry. Typical war meeting for nords. "I know we do, everyday we have our countrymen flocking to serve under our banners, the elves have grown lax as of late to the south, many of their number gone to secure the border into Skyrim from argonian slavers. A quick, brutal assault and the city will be free for the first time in years!" Several of the nords around the table cheered, but this was the best-case scenario. They'd been planning such attacks back when Eastmarch had still had other holds to rely on in the war. Now they were an island amidst a sea of elvish supremacy. "And what happens when the Thalmor launch a counter attack, we don't have the numbers to keep both Eastmarch and the Rift free of the elves. It would only be a matter of time before Riften was back in their hands, and we would be back to square one, weakened and undermanned." Harald hated being the voice of reason, if only he could be a foot soldier, simply awaiting orders and never having to think of the bigger picture. "We need a plan that will guarantee we can hold off Dominion counter attacks, if we don't think of the bigger picture then Eastmarch will fall just as every other hold has." His words were sobering, but were needed. To keep hope that their fight wasn't meaningless was one thing, throwing away troops in pointless attacks was another. "What are you proposing then, Jarl?" One of Harald's thanes had picked up on the hint, and thankfully set him up. "We give the people of Skyrim a reason to fight. Our people lie under the oppressive boot of the elven invaders, waiting for the day someone gives them the hope to fight back. Why attack Riften when our target is so obvious." Pulling a knife from his belt, Harald stabbed it down onto the map laying out in front of him, right on Whiterun. "Years ago, our combined armies suffered the first loss of the war on the fateful fields of Whiterun, so why not let those same fields be where the tide turns, where our land rallies once more!" Cheering followed, and drinking, and eating, and pats on the back, stories of days of old, and nords boasting how the elves would shudder at the great armies of Eastmarch. Harald forced a smile, while he still could. For better or worse, he would be the Jarl who would bring this war to an end.

Ragnar

"You look a lot better without the beard, though you should keep it once you die, really distinguished you as the big tough nord guy out of us all." Having to deal with Freyja was one thing, the dead spirits of age old heroes? Much more annoying. "Made you look like some barbarian from the old northern tribes, back before they figured out that building a house was a lot warmer than covering up in dead animals." The hero of Kvatch was talkative as ever, gestured greatly exaggerated in his armor so that anyone watching would know that he was indeed making said gestures. As if Ragnar cared. He'd sent Freyja east to trade with the Skaal for food, Ragnar had never kept anything that would last longer than a week and if they were to start traveling they would need food that would stay good for extended periods. While she was off doing that, Ragnar was traveling to his shrine. To be more accurate, it was a shrine made for him by the Rieklings. Fucking goblins. "You know, if you actually smiled, or spoke, you would look the striking noble hero, ready to save the day." The ghostly man walked backwards as he spoke, the snow not hindering his movement at all. "I'm more interested why he changed appearance rather than how he looks changed. Care to explain Dragonborn?" Coming out of exile had been a hard choice, if these two were going to be a constant presence then he already regretted it. "Perhaps the man simply wants to look as if he hasn't lived in a cave for years on end, could we blame him?" Ragnar was nearing his destination now, the entrance to the cave system was within throwing distance. Increasing his speed, he entered without a second thought. This was his shrine after all. There was little to no light once he was inside, and lifting up a hand in front of himself, a flame flickered to life in his fingers, the darkness pushed back in the wake of his impromptu light. The place looked exactly as it had the last time he was here, which had been years ago, a few months after he had arrived on Solstheim. Looking behind, the spirits were gone, blessedly leaving him alone once more. Walking through the thin tunnel, it didn't take long for the path to lead him to a wide cleared out space, Riekling structures and offerings covering much of the cave. And in the center of it all, lay not one, but two daedric artifacts. Jorvasskr had been outfitted with weapons of great renown, and upon recovering several daedric artifacts, he had separated the items in several different areas. One of those locations was Jorvasskr. Dawnbreaker and Spellbreaker had been two such items. Ragnar had let companions take them out on missions and assumed that the companions of Whiterun would be the best guardians for two very useful weapons. When the assault on Jorvasskr had come, Ragnar had used both as the hall burned, and had brought both with him on the chase to Solstheim. Once he arrived, he had come to this cave and thrown them inside. After a few months he'd come to check on them, only to find that the Rieklings had turned the cave into some sort of temple, to both him and the daedric artifacts. They were strange little things. Climbing the small mound, the Rieklings had propped the two items on, he covered both in cloth, and stuffed the sword into his pack, leaving the shield covered up and tied onto the exterior of his pack. Shouldering the weight once more, Ragnar's eyes came to rest on a crudely drawn picture of him on the wall. It was done in charcoal probably, right onto the cave wall. A large wild looking set of black eyes looked back at him, the drawing was primitive, single colored, and somehow still very accurate. While there was no doubt that the figure drawn looked fearsome, he also looked… defeated? Had Ragnar really looked like that? Kneeling down, Ragnar spent a minute just staring at the wall. His own likeness stared down at him. Freyja had told him what his absence had led to, while he still believed that Skyrim could have beat off the invasion without him, he also had to admit that at the same time it would have been much easier to be done with his help. The time for that was over, his last duty in life was to teach Freyja, Skyrim didn't need the Dragonborn anymore. Standing to his feet, Ragnar threw an arm up towards the crude drawing. A wall of fire lifted with his hand, bathing the entire side of the cave in the flames. Without looking back, his feet carried him from the cave. "Didn't like what you saw, huh?" The two were waiting for him at the exit. Great. "How could he, being something and seeing what you are is something that's nearly impossible to get reference for." The Nerevarine's eyes were full of judgement. "True true, but he must have had some idea of what he had become out here, burning the whole cavern is an overreaction if I've ever seen one." The imperial was at least more subtle, even if he was just as annoying with his jibs. "Say what you need or leave. I have no patience for either of you." Ragnar swung around and stood his ground, moving his eyes from one to the other. He wouldn't spend the entire journey with them annoying him like this, not while he had to deal with Freyja as well. "So finally, the mighty Dragonborn allows us lowly heroes to hear his voice speak to them." With his words the Nerevarine stepped closer. "listen well Dragonborn, it is time you remember your duty and stop bringing dishonor to us all." A growl escaped Ragnar's throat before he could stop himself, and his eyes glanced a look behind the Nerevarine, but it seemed that the imperial was gone. "Be glad you're a spirit, or you would come to regret your words, n'wah." It was the dark elf's turn to curl his fist and barely suppress a growl, both at the insult and the nord's words. "It seems you need a lesson in humility, snowback." Ragnar's brows came together at the Nerevarine's words until it came clear what he meant. The spirit before him was looking more and more physical by the second. Typical, he decides to leave exile and ends up in a fight with the Nerevarine.

Freyja

Kicking at a clump of snow, Freyja groaned a bit as she looked up at the climb she had to get back to Ragnar's cave. Why did supposedly dead Dragonborns have to come hide in such unbearably high places. The view itself made up for it she supposed, but still, to have to climb this every day, she couldn't even imagine the stamina the man must have had. She still couldn't get him out of her head. Hours after leaving the cave, haggling with the Skaal for food that would last a long journey, and on her trek back, and she still couldn't stop thinking of this morning. While she had been able to imagine what he would look like when he was a little more civilized and a lot less crazy wild nord, it was nothing compared to the reality. By the gods he looked like some sort of dream made reality. While others may be put off by the scars covering him, Freyja knew it was those scars that marked him as a man of duty, he had seen countless battles and survived to show to the world that he wouldn't die so easy. He was also taller than nearly everyone she had met, a good few inches taller than the Nordic average, not to mention that he had the muscle to make his tall frame look anything but lanky. While he wouldn't look bad with a beard that looked like it was somewhat taken care of, (she doubted he could look bad with anything) she had to admit he looked much better without it. And his eyes had that intensity! Freyja wouldn't like to admit it, but it took a gods awful amount of time for her to stop thinking of the Dragonborn and notice the giant plume of fire coming from a what looked like a a mile or two from Ragnar's cave. She honestly shouldn't be surprised, there was no way this wasn't something involving the Dragonborn, the question is who had run into him. Dropping the pack of food stuffs, Freyja sprinted towards the fight, even if she didn't get involved she wouldn't miss an opportunity to watch Ragnar fight. It took much longer than she would have liked to get to the fight, with the deep snow, as well as the constant slopes she was forced to climb, but eventually she arrived. A giant wave of fire was thrown across the distance in front of her, aimed at a dark elf who swiped a long two-handed sword as if cutting an enemy diagonally, the fire splitting before him, leaving the dunmer unmarked. The source of the fire stood his ground, sending another blast of fire, his blue/grey eyes sparing her a glance before focusing back on his opponent. What in the name of Talos had she just stumbled across? "Wait at the cave Freyja!" His rough dismissal was followed with a pivot of his waist, and one of Ragnar's legs kicked out, an even larger gust of fire than the last burning everything between him and the elf. Another swipe from the dunmer saved his life, leaving the edges of his clothing singed and burning slightly. The dark elf was covered in bonemold armor, long dark hair pulled into a tight ponytail, the long bright sword in his hands sweeping left and right gracefully as he split blast after blast that the Dragonborn threw at him. Ragnar had no weapons, but seemed to be doing just fine without it, she hadn't seen him so utterly elegant before! With no weapon in his hands, his combat style was completely alien to her, he almost looked like he was dancing, his body moving back and forth, his limbs darting out to send jets of flame at the dark elf every chance he got, his feet never in the same place for more than a moment. Freyja couldn't sit by and watch this happen, and pulled the bow from her back, nocking and firing an arrow. From the position she had, his side was facing her, the dark elf's body focused on attempting to advance closer to Ragnar, but with him in the midst of his deadly dance he couldn't move forward or risk the fires consuming him. Freyja released her arrow, amazed as the arrow neared the dark elf he ducked suddenly so it flew over him harmlessly. One of the hands gripping his long blade came off briefly, shooting an ice spike right at her. Before she could react a mass of snow lifted from the ground and consumed the spike, Ragnar moving right back into his offense. Gods above she was out of her league. After one last fireball was dissipated with the dark elf cutting through it with his magic blade, Ragnar moved his legs into the same stance he had taught her, even from her she could see his chest rise. The dark elf noticed as well, preparing and firing another ice spike directly at Ragnar, hoping to interrupt what was to come. He was too late. Halfway across the distance to the Dragonborn, the nord's arm pointed at his opponent's chest, and Freyja saw him use his deadly lightning yet again. Her sight was blinded by the brightness, and she scarcely saw the deadly magic destroy the ice about to pierce his chest, and continue to the dark elf. For the first time in her short experiences of watching the impressive display of magic, the opponent wasn't immediately killed or maimed horribly. Instead the gods damned dark elf caught the lightning with his sword. The sword seemed to draw the lightning away from the dunmer, and the entirety of the shocking blast was absorbed into the length of the blade. The dark elf looked a little surprised himself, and while Ragnar looked just as confused, his hand soon glowed orange and his pack flew to his hand, as he fiddled with the pack Freyja felt fear grow deep inside of herself. The elf was pointing his sword at Ragnar, could he redirect the caught lightning through the weapon? Best not too see if he could, no matter how futile she fired off another arrow, at the worst it would distract him. Instead the elf displayed his impressive reflexes and situational awareness, moving just enough out of the way so the arrow soared past him. For the second time in seconds, her eyes were subject to the gods awful brightness of the lightning. To her complete and utter amazement, the lightning was once again caught, this time by whatever shield Ragnar was now holding. The dwemer looking shield glowed brightly for a few moments, before resuming its normal appearance. She was so out of her league here. Ragnar stood to his full height now, shield on one arm and in his other the very sword she'd witnessed him using in the memory he'd shared with her. He looked like a divine in that moment, shoulder length hair flowing in a chilled breeze, jaw set in determination as he hefted his blade and raised his shield, bare arms revealing tensed and scarred muscles. She needed to get her head on straight and realize that now wasn't the most appropriate time to be thinking of this. Fantasize later, try and attempt to be useful now. The Dragonborn advanced quickly, closing the space between himself and the elf, Dawnbreaker glowing brilliantly as he swung it, the elf's long blade cutting through it, just in time to receive a kick to the chest from Ragnar, who'd used the flames to conceal his approach. Ragnar kept his enemy on the defense, the shield blocking whatever attacks the dunmer did manage, Dawnbreaker constantly slicing or stabbing towards the bonemold armor. This was a true duel, more graceful than any fight she had seen on a battlefield, or between drunken inn-goers. Throwing her bow aside, Freyja pulled one of her short swords out, circling behind the dark elf and coming in for an attack. Before she could even get off an attack, an armored boot came up and kicked right into her gut, knocking the air clean out of her body. "My quarrel is with the Dragonborn, not you girl, leave or I will kill you!" How the elf managed those words while struggling to hold off the large nord before him was something else, but Freyja wasn't about to leave. Stepping forward more cautiously, she immediately retreat back as the elf suddenly swung his sword out in an arc, Ragnar moving out of the sword's range as well. For a moment, the three looked back and forth at each other. "Freyja, go back to the cave. Now. I will handle this." There wasn't a hint of fear from him about the encounter, the nord wanted her to leave for her own safety. She would show him that she was more than some helpless youth. When she didn't leave, the elf seemed to take that as confirmation that this would be a two on one fight, and some sphere of magic charged in his hand, and upon its release a trio of blue ethereal dunmer appeared between Ragnar and himself. The three immediately set upon him, spear, axe, and sword doing their best to distract and harm him. That just left Freyja facing off against some unknown very dangerous dark elf with a strange mystical sword. Might as well get used to this sort of thing now, seemed like it was an everyday occurrence with the Dragonborn.

Ragnar

Of course the bastard would summon some of his ancestor spirits, the dark elves happy to be back in this realm, fighting again. His shield caught a spear thrust, his leg darting out in a sweep, the fire forcing the other two to halt their advance. Ragnar used the chance to surge forward, breaking the semi-circle they'd formed around him. He wouldn't win while they used such tactics, any attack against one of them would be rebuffed by the other two. His shield smacked into one of the blue spirits, and a sword slash cut another one from hip to shoulder, a scream cut short as the ancestor guardian made its way back to Aetherius. Ragnar rolled forward, an axe intended for his leg finding only snow, and with a sweep of Dawnbreaker a horizontal line of fire forced the spirits farther away from him. He used that bought time to move to assist Freyja, who'd been pushed back as she frantically put up a defense from the sweeping blows of Chrysamere, the Nerevarine using his superior reach to his advantage. Ragnar thrust Dawnguard forward, the dunmer spun around and his long blade bat the strike meant for his spine away. Ragnar didn't have time for an extended fight, the ancestor guardians were rushing forward, Freyja meeting their charge head on, sword deflecting fatal strikes. He didn't know how long she could hold them off. It was time to end this fight. Throwing his shield and sword down to the side, Ragnar leapt forward, arms wrapping around the elf, Chrysamere dropped at the sudden contact. Lifting the armored legend from the ground, he threw him back down, the Nerevarine's unarmored head swung hard into the icy surface, Ragnar's hand wrapping around his throat. "Leave, or this hand is about to get a lot hotter." All dark elves had a natural resistance to heat. That didn't do much for a colossal blast of it erupting right against his neck. To drive the point home, he let heat freely radiate off his hand, the neck getting uncomfortably warm under his grip. A growl vibrated the Nerevarine's throat, and then he was just gone. All evidence of his presence gone, besides the scorched landscape from their battle. Ragnar paid that no thought, as he turned to check on Freyja. She knelt in the snow, blood in the snow under her. "I-I'm fine, it barely got through the armor." The small nords hand was pressed against the side of her thigh, blood leaking from the opening. Rushing to where she was, he gently guided her down until she was lying on the snow, eyes staring down at her wound. "Take your hand off, I won't be able to heal it with your hand in the way." Slowly, she peeled her hand away, grimacing as a fresh wave of blood came out of the opening. His hands immediately pressed down on it, helping halt the flow as well as beginning the flow of magic into her body. They sat like that for several minutes, Ragnar had his eyes closed, using the magical connection to watch the wound knit itself together from the inside. Freyja had at some point slipped out of consciousness, a likely result of the magic as well as the fight she had gotten caught up in. Foolish, brave but foolish of her to charge into a fight like that. While he could've stopped once the wound was closed from the outside, he spent the extra time she was asleep to knit veins back together, guaranteeing that the mark wouldn't end up troubling her in the future. It would be egregious to see such a woman marked with scars like himself. No one deserved to be marked as he was. His work finished, and after collecting the daedric artifacts as well as Freyja's weapons, he lifted her up off the ground, and began on the path to his cave.

It was hours later when Freyja's previously still form shot up, eyes searching the area around her frantically. Ragnar glanced at her, an eyebrow lifted in question. "What happened, I- we were fighting an elf?" propped up on her elbows from the cave floor, Freyja had her sight devoted solely on him. "We were. He left, I healed you, and now we're here." A few parts were left out, like the part where he'd cleaned the blood from her armor and the gash itself, surprised to feel such soft pleasant skin under the armor. No need for her to know that, or he'd find himself in another fight. "That elf didn't just leave, he vanished! Who was he, and are we going to have to fight him again?" Ragnar couldn't suppress a snort, he doubted the elf would show himself for quite a while after their encounter. The hero of Kvatch was leaning back on a wall, shaking his head with a smirk, probably having already talked to the Nerevarine after the fight. "I wouldn't worry about him anymore, as for who he is… an old acquaintance would be the simplest answer." What did one usually call their past reincarnations? Family? At the very least not friends, not strangers either though. He didn't want to give it anymore of his time, they weren't his enemies, even the Nerevarine. "And I'm guessing that's as specific as you'll get with it, so I won't even both asking about that…" Silence filled the cave once more, small prodding fingers examining where she had been cut. The leather armor was still far from being useless, though it'd need an impromptu repair to help keep the cold from seeping into her armor. Against the wishes of his weathered body, he stood and walked over to his pack, lifting the shield off and tossing it over towards Freyja. With a thud the dwemer made shield echoed briefly in the small space. "Spellbreaker, it absorbs any magic cast at it, as you witnessed." Before today, Ragnar could say that he'd never had his own magic used against him, without the shield he may have had a problem effectively blocking his own attack. The young companion hefted the shield onto her arm, experimenting with it and testing its weight slightly before laying it back on the ground. "Any super impressive memories of you using this to single handedly take down an army?" The stones on this one, her attitude kept surprising him.

"None that come to mind, I really only used it once right after I acquired it." A young girl's laughter came to mind, himself several years younger pushing a child down a hill, the shield being used as a sled. That particular usage of the artifact didn't seem beneficial to tell, and knowing Freyja she would bring it up constantly mockingly. Memories of his daughter were challenging enough with how sparing they were, her face haunted him enough as it was. Now he was in an even worse mood. Gods damn him. "Thank you, for healing me, and getting me back here. You're a better man than you give yourself credit for." Her words sucked him right out of his thoughts and back to the present. A dismissive snort was his response. "It's true. Look at yourself." She rose from her spot, and as she did often, sat down next to him, her small hand feeling several of the larger scars on the arm closest to her. "Each one of these is a testament to what you've done for this world, the blood you lost defending Skyrim. Even if others don't know the sacrifices you made, the pain you had to endure, I do. Thank you, I used to think the Dragonborn was my hero, but I've realized that you're more than just a title." Gods, he couldn't tear his eyes from hers if he tried, seemingly all knowing green eyes filled with such warmth, he didn't deserve to be praised by her for who he used to be. "You are my hero, whatever your real name is, if only everyone could have the strength to do what is right like you do, then there wouldn't be need of heroes." A strong breeze blew in from outside the cave, and Freyja shivered slightly, eyes still locked on his. Without really thinking of his actions, he raised his inner temperature, warming the cave in just a few moments, a snort of amusement escaping the companion. "And only you would use a forgotten ancient magic style as casually as others would a campfire to stay warm." Deep inside… Ragnar felt amused? It'd been a while since that had happened, but he didn't really mind it so much right now. "Would you rather I only use it for combat then?" The moment he broke the focus, the cold returned and he received a glare at his actions, as she shifted closer to him to help ward off the cold, sitting side by side, her arm resting against his. "I never said that, only felt it worth mentioning." Instead of replying to the quick witted and easy to quip woman, he listened to the whistling of the wind outside. How bad could returning to Skyrim be, when he had such an interesting travel partner.

This was more of a filler chapter before things really kick off, introducing a few other characters that will appear in the story, with a little action with our favorite dark elf. So far I've only kept two of the other main protagonists of Elder Scrolls games as characters which the Dragonborn interacts with, but if you guys would like to see any other specific ones just let me know. I'm introducing a lot of new concepts to Skyrim, along with a timeline where the second great war has been resolved, something I've always thought would be fascinating. As for the Dragonborn, I feel that sometimes I've made him slightly overpowered, the only thing holding him back being his past and wish to remain dead to the world. If anyone reading this has any ideas, critiques, or questions, make sure to let me know. I'll attempt to update this story regularly, but my work schedule may make that difficult, I'll do my best. Thanks for reading.


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